


Gravitation

by aozu



Category: Free!, ダイヤのA | Daiya no A | Ace of Diamond, 俺物語!! | Ore Monogatari!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Future, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-21 08:22:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4822028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aozu/pseuds/aozu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two peas in a pod? What about three?</p><p>College AU where Furuya, Haru and Suna are flatmates.</p><p>They get along surprisingly well.</p><p>Miyuki/Furuya established relationship, Makoto/Haru pre-relationship. Suna/Books.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN EXTREMELY SELF INDULGENT LIL PROJECT
> 
> I thought at some point _someone_ would have written something about Haru and Furuya at the very least but I guess not? This AU wouldn't be possible without [everbad](http://everbad.tumblr.com/) who suffered an inordinate amount of random conversations about this OT3 with me.
> 
> Kind of follows [I Belong with You](http://archiveofourown.org/series/268702) verse, but that's just for my personal headcanon. It's quite Furumiyu heavy in the beginning, though it should balance out by the third chapter. Tbh this AU began as a random fluff ball of the 'cool stoic guys' and then some plot was thrown in, though it's vague, it's all vague…
> 
> 7/12/2015 edit: unwritten shenanigans documented on a [**headcanon blog**](http://gravitationverse.tumblr.com/tagged/ot3-au/chrono) for this au

 

> **grav·i·ta·tion  
>  **_noun  
>  _ movement, or a tendency to move, toward a centre of attractive force

* * *

When Miyuki accepted his place in Tokyo University a year ago, he had jokingly made a comment to Furuya that went like this,  _"Hey, did you know if two people who love each other go to Todai, they'll live happily ever after?"_ He was probably quoting off some manga he had glanced at one time when Isashiki's manga was being passed around the team, but Furuya simply blinked and said seriously, "Then, I'll come with you."

It wasn't that Miyuki doubted Furuya would get scouted by Todai—on the contrary, with an additional year's worth of experience of being an ace that would bolster the reputation of Furuya's fearsome pitching, it was rather likely—in fact, much more likely than the chances of Furuya testing into Seido; sometimes he's still suspicious about how Furuya had done it, considering Furuya isn't exactly academically inclined.

A year later when he's helping Furuya to move into the dormitories before term starts, it then hits Miyuki how incredibly sappy that comment was no matter how flippantly he had meant it, it's moreso the fact was that it was  _said_. He knew Furuya would take it literally—if Miyuki wanted to be honest, he might admit that it was a nice thought to have them play as a battery in official matches again. It's not the same over the past year where they can only play catch in their free time or sometimes in reunion games with Seido's team. And now thanks to Furuya's dead set persistence, there is.

The same sentiment shows through Furuya's aura which has been burning since he's been following Miyuki who leads them towards the dorms—first years are assigned the same building every year—staring at the back of Miyuki's head with twice his usual intensity. The usual request to pitch was immediately turned down the moment Miyuki had met Furuya on the campus; there are other things Furuya needs be doing, Miyuki had rolled his eyes, like to  _move in_.

"Toru," Miyuki calls, glancing backward. "What number are you in?"

Furuya looks at the paper he grasps in his hand. "211."

Not on the ground floor and relatively near the staircase—it's a good location. The corridors are quiet as they stroll along the second floor. Considering that it's still early-March, majority of the students wouldn't move in that early but Furuya is supposed to join their team practice from next week, being on a baseball scholarship. When they reach the door number 211, Miyuki steps aside for Furuya to slot in his key. It goes in like expected, but when Furuya turns it, there ends up being a  _click_.

Furuya blinks. "…It wasn't locked," he mumbles, turning it back.

"Maybe one of your flatmates is in," Miyuki answers. "Do you know who they are?"

The dorms are all arranged in three person flats—three bedrooms each with a shared kitchen and bathroom. Miyuki had his experience last year; nothing terrible had happened, but after years of living with people Miyuki isn't close to, he finally concedes under Narumiya Mei's—who incidentally, is with them in Todai—prodding and rents a flat share with them two.

Furuya shakes his head in reply to his question. It doesn't really matter, Miyuki supposes, it's all a gamble on who becomes Furuya's flatmates anyway. When they open the door, there is a pair of shoes stacked neatly on the shoe rack at the side.

"Sorry for intruding!" Miyuki calls, but no answer comes. "Hmm, maybe your flatmate forgot to lock the door behind him."

Furuya enters first, glancing at the walls as he makes way down the narrow corridor that lead to a wider space with tatami flooring, a low table and several cushions on the floor, most probably their living room. To the right there is a closed door, followed by another doorway that opens up to a nice airy kitchen; in clockwise direction, there are two open doors that show a peek of a bed and desk each inside, and the last one is a closed door.

Miyuki explores the kitchen first by habit—it looks exactly like the one he had last year, albeit lightly stocked and much cleaner, with no dirty dishes or mess in sight. The refrigerator holds some bottles of water and a few pieces of raw fish—mackerel, he thinks—wrapped in plastic. The freezer contains even more packets of the same fish, though frozen.  _A fish diet?_  Miyuki blinks, closing the freezer door. He walks out, vaguely noting that Furuya has gone into the centre bedroom, and turns his attention to the first closed door, which should be the bathroom.

The silence from Miyuki's greeting at the front door had mostly cancelled out any expectation that anyone was in the flat, and thus Miyuki is certainly not prepared to see another youth sitting in the bathtub when he swings the toilet door open.

"…You're not Makoto," the black-haired boy says after a moment of silent staring, blinking calmly.

"Um," Miyuki manages, thrown off. "No, I'm not."

It's not that he just walked in on someone  _bathing_ , there  _is_  that, but there is also the fact that this other person startlingly reminds him a lot of his pitcher—the short black hair, the blue eyes, the stoic face—the other doesn't  _exactly_  look like Furuya, but he  _kind of_  does in some weird alternative universe way, and Miyuki can't put his finger on it. He isn't sure if he should say something more to his statement, but abruptly there is the sound of the front door bursting wide open.

"Haru!" someone else calls, hurried, voice laced with a bit of breathlessness. "I'm sorry I'm late—"

Miyuki turns in time to see another male pause at his presence. Tall, spectacled, green eyes, sandy coloured hair.

"Ah. Makoto," the one in the tub says.

"Ahhh, why didn't you get out of the tub, Haru? We're really late!" The one who had just entered exclaims when his attention gets shifted.

Miyuki stands back and watches the one named Makoto one hold out a hand to the other, and he raises both eyebrows when the other one—Haru, he guesses—just stands up from the tub. He would cough at this vastly weird shameless scene that he's witnessing, but then he realises that Haru is wearing swimsuit jammers.

…That kind of increases the weird factor, but Miyuki is polite enough to keep his mouth shut, though Makoto snaps his attention back to him and the green eyes widen in panic.

"Um, I'm so sorry you had to see that—" he cries aghast, shoving a towel over Haru's shoulders. "Haru, please, go get changed!"

Miyuki hides an amused chuckle underneath a deceivingly polite smile. "It's okay. I'm Miyuki Kazuya," he introduces. "And you are?"

"Tachibana Makoto," the taller boy smiles, skin around the eyes crinkling before he bows shortly. "I don't live here, I'm just here to pick Haru up."

"Nanase Haruka," the black-haired teen says with a short nod of acknowledgement, blue eyes meeting Miyuki's directly.

"Pleased to meet you," Miyuki replies in automatic reflex, the weird familiar feeling back in his mind. "Though, I'm not the one moving in. I'm a second year. My…junior is moving in today," he informs them. "Furuya!" he calls, poking his head out of the bathroom for a bit. "Furuya?"

There is no response, and Miyuki knows exactly why. With an exasperated sigh he excuses himself from the duo, padding into the centre empty bedroom to see Furuya lying sideways curled up on the bare mattress, dead asleep. He nudges Furuya's shoulder.

"Hey, wake up. One of your flatmates is in," he shakes Furuya again. "Furuya, wake up."

Furuya stirs groggily, and Miyuki gives a quick glance to the doorway to ascertain that they're alone for now. He ruffles Furuya's hair for a bit.

"Get up, come on."

The pitcher drags himself up, blinking sleepily. "…It's too hot."

Miyuki rolls his eyes. "It's just the central heating—you can adjust that later."

He gestures for Furuya to exit the room, wherein he meets Makoto standing in the living room alone fidgeting a little.

"Haru went to change," Makoto says, and then his gaze rests upon Furuya. "You must be Furuya-san?"

"Furuya Satoru. Pleased to meet you," Furuya bows politely, though in that time, Miyuki meets his gaze with Makoto who gives him some kind of hesitant confused wide-eyed  _look_  back.

So, he's not the only one.

"I'm Tachibana Makoto," Makoto returns the bow. "Are you an athlete too? Haru told me only the sports players on scholarship move in this early."

Furuya nods. "Baseball. I'm a pitcher."

"Oh?" Makoto beams. "Haru's a—"

"Swimmer," they all turn when Haru exits that third closed bedroom door, dressed. "I only swim free."

Haru walks up to Furuya and stares at him squarely in the eye—other than the massive similarities of hair styles and eye colour, the height difference is rather obvious. Miyuki watches from the side lines warily; suddenly it becomes too quiet as the other two just look at each other, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Makoto's fingers fidgeting as though he's not sure whether to break the ice. Then, the shorter black-haired youth speaks.

"Nanase Haruka. Pleased to meet you," Haru says, dipping his head slightly.

Furuya returns the bow a little lower. "Furuya Satoru."

It settles into another silence after that, and after a few more seconds that tick by, Makoto coughs into his fist.

"I'm so sorry Miyuki-san, Furuya-san, but we're  _really_  late to pick our friends up from the train station," Makoto says, glancing at his phone. "If we had known Furuya-san was moving in, we would've stayed to help, but—"

"Oh, don't trouble yourself. The delivery man will do most of the work anyway," Miyuki replies, waving his hands. "We'll meet again soon, I'm sure."

"Please excuse us, I'm sorry!" Makoto calls as he rushes both him and Haru to the front door.

Haru turns back for a bit as he's putting on his shoes, meeting gaze with Furuya, but it's over once he and Makoto leave the flat.

Miyuki exhales when he's left alone with Furuya, scratching the base of his neck. "Well. What do you think of him?" he asks.

Furuya considers this in thoughtful silence.

"Tachibana-san is nice."

"Yeah, he does seem so," Miyuki agrees. "What about your flatmate, Nanase-san? You think you'll get along with him? It's a whole year, you know."

This time Furuya takes even longer to consider, and the moment that he opens his mouth after carefully deciding what to say, his phone rings in his back pocket. He answers it while Miyuki waits, and after a long moment of silence, Furuya lifts the phone away.

"The delivery van is here," he states.

"Here as in in front of the dorms or in front of the main campus gate?" Miyuki raises an eyebrow.

Furuya presses the phone back and mumbles some words. "…He says he's at the entrance."

"The entrance of  _what_ , exactly?"

"…There's a building inside—" Furuya recites as he listens to the phone again.

"Toru," Miyuki sighs, holding out his hand. "Give me the phone."

* * *

It takes a better half of the afternoon to help Furuya unpack—Miyuki never really considered that Furuya was the type to hoard a lot of things, but when he opens a box and sees at least ten whole packs of disposable heat pads, he understands why Furuya has so many boxes.

What a mother's boy.

"Do you even use these?" Miyuki grins, taking one out to show the other.

"…No," Furuya answers, busy with another box. "But okaa-san always packs them anyway."

"It's about time you packed your own things," Miyuki snorts, glancing over to see what Furuya is doing and he squints. "…Did you really have to bring  _that_?"

Furuya cradles a large white polar bear soft toy in his arms, carrying it to the bed. "Yes."

Miyuki leans over to see what else is in the box—it's a stack of animal picture books, and on top of that there is small black box, almost like a ring box. He picks it out. "What's this?"

Furuya's eyes widen fractionally when he sees it, taking the item into his hands carefully. He moves to put it into his top desk drawer, but Miyuki catches his arm with a curious smirk.

"So what is it?"

Either Furuya knows that Miyuki's terrible personality means the other is going to get his answer no matter what, or maybe Furuya doesn't seem to think it's that big of a deal to hide it because the pitcher sits back down and opens the box to show Miyuki. It  _is_  a ring box, but there isn't a ring inside, just a white button.

Miyuki cocks his head, blinking. "I thought it'd be something a little more—" he starts, but then it abruptly dawns upon him  _what_  that button really is.

It's  _his_  second button from the Seido baseball jersey—one that Furuya had quietly asked for during his graduation.

"Why did you bring that?" Miyuki manages, trying not to feel so self-conscious—how long has it been that they're dating already, coming to two years (?) and yet Furuya keeps throwing these curveballs.

"It's important to me," Furuya says, closing the box and taking it to his desk.

There aren't many things Miyuki can say to that. "The real thing is here, monster rookie," he grins, pointing to himself.

"I can't keep Miyuki-senpai in a box."

Miyuki pauses as he meets Furuya's deadpan expression, but he knows the other well enough that he knows it's actually a joke. He thinks. He chuckles and pats the empty floor beside him.

"Come here."

Furuya acquiesces to his request. He tugs the front of Furuya's shirt and kisses the other very lightly on the lips. It's nice to finally have Furuya within reach so easily, especially after a year's worth of texting and occasional weekend dates when their schedules could allow it, which weren't very often considering Furuya's third year in high school and Miyuki's first in a new college. The same sentiment seems to burn in Furuya, who cups Miyuki's jaw and kisses back a little deeper, and no one can really blame them if Furuya never finishes unpacking his room that day.

* * *

Furuya does try to ask him to stay over, and Miyuki would if he had actually planned to—but he doesn't have a change of clothes and there's practice for the team tomorrow, also, he's a little—or more than a little—afraid that Mei will burn the apartment down seeing as he was supposed to cook dinner for them both, instead, it's way over the time he should've been home to cook with his phone vibrating at a near constant pace from Mei's frantic texting. Miyuki tries to ignore his pocket the best he can as he placates Furuya at the front door.

"I'll come to pick you up for Monday practice," Miyuki says, squeezing his feet into his shoes. "Remember to put the rest of the fried rice into the fridge. You can heat it up for tomorrow."

"Can't I come for practice tomorrow?"

"You can watch from the fence, but you won't be let into the field yet."

"Then, after—"

"No pitching," Miyuki interrupts, rolling his eyes at the unhappy gloom. "I want you to relax. Hang out with your flatmate. Come Monday, you won't really get time to rest. Okay?"

Furuya twitches his fingers, an obvious sign that he's frustrated and wants to pitch, but he nods reluctantly. Before Miyuki grins and turns on his heel to go, Furuya grabs the other's hand.

"I'm happy I am here," Furuya says when their gazes meet.

Miyuki's lips twitch into a slight smile.

"…Yeah," he says eventually, one hand coming up to pat Furuya on the cheek. "Night, Toru-chan," he murmurs with a teasing tilt, and gives a wider smile before he goes.

Furuya watches the catcher's back trot down the corridor and disappear into the stairwell before he closes the door behind him, feet moving to the kitchen to put the extra bowls Miyuki had cooked into the refrigerator. It's still the evening, which makes Furuya wonder what he should do tonight—more unpacking? Or maybe he could throw a bit of ball towards the ceiling.

He's just about to enter his room when the front door is flung wide open, with a loud voice carrying through from the corridor.

"Haru-chan's flatmate! Hi, hi! We've come to meet you!"

"Nagisa—!" another voice cries immediately, sounding distressed. "Don't shout! And take off your shoes first!"

Furuya pauses when the black haired youth he met in the morning emerges, blue eyes blinking back at him. Nanase—if Furuya remembers correctly—nods at him, and he nods back in acknowledgement just as the other suddenly topples forwards when a shorter blond teen pushes from behind.

"Oh!" the blond gasps, eyes wide and sparkling. "Mako-chan, you were right! He really does look like Haru-chan!"

"Nagisa!" This time, the distressed voice turns into somewhat appalled, and Furuya matches the voice to the tall green-eyed boy he met—Tachibana—in the morning trotting in.

Another tall but bespectacled youth comes in last; this one Furuya doesn't recognise.

"Naigsa-kun, that's really rude," he says, nudging the blond in the ribs. "Hi," he turns up his smile at Furuya directly. "I'm Ryuugazaki Rei."

It must've been something in Furuya's wary expression, because Rei elbows the blond youth who coughs, looking a little contrite. "I'm Hazuki Nagisa. You can call me anything you like!" the other says happily. "But 'Nagisa' is preferable, or even 'Nacchan'!"

"No one calls you that," Haru murmurs from his side, and Makoto and Rei stifle a chuckle when Nagisa pouts.

"Well, Sacchan can be the first one!"

" _Nagisa_!" Makoto groans, face in his palms. "You can't just—"

Nagisa merely beams wider, trotting up to the silent pitcher to cling to his arm. "It's fine, isn't it? Since he's living with Haru-chan, they'll get to know each other—and us—well!" the blond says, titling his head up to smile at Furuya. " _Ne_ , Sacchan?"

Furuya looks at Nagisa for a moment before nodding slowly. It's overwhelming to be thrusted into the spotlight so suddenly, and there isn't anything he can say in defense to the blond boy's expectant grin. It is a little weird to be called that by someone else but his mother; Miyuki calls him another variation of his first name, and no one else uses his first name, not even Haruichi or Sawamura whom are admittedly his closest friends.

"So, Sacchan," Nagisa begins, dragging him to the low table to sit down, whilst Haru and Makoto seemingly disappear to the kitchen. "Mako-chan said you play baseball."

"Pitcher," Furuya nods.

"That's really amazing, isn't it?" Nagisa gushes, eyes sparkling. "I heard the pitcher usually has the ace number. And for Todai too!"

Furuya simmers warmly in the praise, aura brightening. "I'm not the ace yet," he says, because it's true—the number one is currently held by Narumiya Mei, and that's not an easy rival to surpass.

"Even so!" Nagisa continues. "What's your speciality?"

"Fastballs."

"Your arm must be really strong," Nagisa comments, patting Furuya's bicep. "Woah, Gou-chan is missing out!" he says excitedly, touching the arm muscles more.

"Naigsa-kun, you're making him uncomfortable," Rei interrupts, smacking Nagisa lightly behind the head.

"But look at this!" Nagisa whines. "It's super impressive!"

"Nagisa, what are you doing?" Makoto exclaims when he enters the living with hot cups of tea in hand.

"Mako-chan, look at his muscles! Let's take a picture of it with yours!"

There isn't much one can do against Hazuki Nagisa, Furuya learns, not even his own friends. Makoto gives him a sheepish apologetic smile when their biceps are positioned side by side for the blond to take a picture—Furuya notices how tanned Makoto's skin against his, which reminds him of Miyuki's.

"Makoto."

Everyone looks up when they hear the quiet call from Haru who peeks out from behind the kitchen door.

"The tea."

"Oh!" Makoto cries, aghast. "I'm sorry, I'm coming!" he apologises as he gets up to retrieve the rest of the tea presumably in the kitchen. "Furuya-san, can I trouble you to help me?" Makoto says gently, before he stands up fully.

Nagisa makes a dissatisfied noise but allows Furuya to leave, where in the pitcher finds himself standing in the kitchen with Haru alone after Makoto gives him a smile and makes off with the pot of tea he was supposed to help with. Furuya fidgets a little when Haru glances out of the door before taking his time to speak.

"Sorry," Haru says. "I know they can be loud. You can go into your room if you want."

Furuya blinks, before slowly shaking his head. "…They are nice."

Blue eyes meet blue eyes. A small smile creeps up the edge of Haru's lips as he turns to the freezer and picks out an ice popsicle, tearing away the wrapper easily and breaking it into halves. He holds one out to Furuya, who hesitates before taking it.

"You don't want to join them?" Furuya asks when Haru puts the dessert into his mouth and leans against the kitchen counter.

"Later. It's too noisy," Haru replies, and at that same moment there is laughter from all three outside. "…'Haru' is fine."

Furuya looks at his ice popsicle and back at Haru again, and then towards direction of the living room where Nagisa's voice can be heard from.

"…'Satoru' is fine too," he says softly, and puts the popsicle into his mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Suna.

It's towards the end of the second week that Furuya sleeps over in Haru's room.

They've been getting used to each other's habits by the day—Haru will always be in the bathtub for hours in the mornings and Furuya lowers temperature of the central heating in the flat so much one day that Haru thought the heater was broken. Both of them have rather busy schedules even if school term hasn't even started; full days at the pool or field means that both of them come home late, but ever since the first time Haru had eyed the fish he had in the fridge when Furuya hadn't returned back one day and decided to cook an extra portion, Furuya had begun to repay the favour by filling up the bathtub with hot water if he arrived back first. However they haven't interacted much besides nods and quiet 'thank you's, which is why it is a little surprising when Haru knocks on Furuya's door on this particular Friday night.

It's still weird to be in Tokyo where Makoto doesn't live near him—sure he can call Makoto and they do have late night chats, but Haru misses the ease where he can just go over to Makoto's place when he's bored to play with the twins and/or video games. Especially on a Friday night where he can sleep in the next day. It's too early to turn in to bed and Makoto is back in Iwatobi spending the last two weeks with his family before he returns to Tokyo to start the academic term; after a bit of shuffling through the games he currently has on his PSIII, he decides to pull in another player.

"Did I wake you?" Haru asks when Furuya opens his door, glancing at the baseball in Furuya's other hand.

Furuya shakes his head in reply.

"Do you want to play video games?"

"…I don't know many," Furuya replies, and Haru takes it as a not a 'no'.

Haru cocks his head and Furuya follows him to his room, looking hesitant about touching anything until Haru gestures for him to sit wherever he likes. Furuya looks impressed by the flat screen tv and the game console he has—gratitude goes to his parents who bought them for him as a college gift. Haru grabs a console and pushes it to Furuya before pulling some of his blankets to huddle underneath, because the heating is much lower than he would normally set it as.

"Sorry," Furuya mumbles when he notices. "I…can turn it back—"

"It's fine," Haru dismisses it, eyes flat on the screen. "It's getting warmer soon."

He finally decides on Mario Kart, seeing as it's one of the most popular games, but one look at Furuya's face tells him that the other has never played it before. He vaguely wonders why that is, but decides not to ask.

"Press X to accelerate," he explains, leaning over to point the right buttons out. "The arrows to go which direction you want. If you get a power up, press the triangle to use it."

"Power up?"

"It…helps to you beat the other players," Haru says. "You'll see."

Furuya nods. Haru brings them up to the start screen, and lets Furuya mull over his character choices, of which the other settles on Toad. There isn't a smile on Furuya's face, but Haru feels like Furuya is mildly excited about playing, perhaps the competitive spirit that comes with all sportsmen. When the first race finishes and the number 8th place flashes boldly on Furuya's side of the screen compared to Haru's 1st place, Haru glances over and sees Furuya glowering darkly.

"I will not lose," Furuya mutters.

_Stubborn_ , Haru thinks, but he is also very guilty of the same virtue or vice, and so he chooses another track for them to play.

And another.

And another.

And another.

* * *

Furuya has overslept a few times, this is nothing unusual, but this time Miyuki can't even get through Furuya's phone, and it's been an hour since he's first rang the doorbell for the apartment. He should've gotten Nanase's number as well, seeing as this is a scenario that he should've accounted for—but then again, if Nanase is out then there's no help for that either.  _God, Toru, wake up already_ , Miyuki groans, shuffling in the cold. He's going to make Furuya  _pay_  for making him wait like this. He futilely rings the doorbell again—one last time, before he gives up and goes to the cafeteria to wait or something, when someone clears his throat from behind him curiously.

"Can I help you?" the person asks, voice quiet in a way that reminds Miyuki of Furuya.

Miyuki pauses, a déjà vu feeling sinking into his skin. Though, other than the voice, there is nothing about appearances from this person that looks like Furuya—or Nanase, for that matter—light brown, or nearly blond, hair, brown eyes, gentle smile.

"…Are you the third flatmate of this apartment?"

The other person glances at the number 211 on the door. "Yes. I'm moving in today."

"My, um, junior," Miyuki starts. "He's not responding to my calls. If you have the key, can you…?" he gestures to the door.

The other's eyes light up in understanding and fishes out the key from his pocket. Miyuki sighs in relief when the door opens—though, a few seconds later he realises that the inside isn't as warm as he thought it would be—he sighs, knowing full well who is at fault. Miyuki nods in gratitude for the help and heads towards Furuya's room first, not bothering to knock before opening the door.

Miyuki bites down the call of Furuya's name on his tongue when he realises it's empty.

Furuya's phone sits innocently on the table, and Miyuki scowls. No wonder. The flat is empty everywhere else too—kitchen, bathroom, the third empty bedroom. Huh. Miyuki tries the only closed door.

"Nanase?" he calls, and knocks louder when there isn't any response. "Nanase, are you in?"

Miyuki is about to turn heel when the door cracks open, revealing the swimmer with a thick blanket pooled around his frame, with squinting eyes. "…Yes?"

"Do you know where—…" Miyuki begins, but he falters off when he spots a lump curled up on the bed inside, dark hair known to belong to his pitcher.

"We were playing video games," Haru says when the other notices the line of sight, holding the door open wider. "He didn't want to stop until he won."

Miyuki glances at Haru. "Let me guess—he didn't," he smirks slightly.

"No," Haru agrees.

"I see," Miyuki says. "Thanks for keeping him company. He can be quite the loner, being so quiet and all."

"…Not really," Haru replies, and Miyuki internally pauses. "I'll go take a bath," Haru continues when there is a lapse of silence.

"Hey, your third flatmate just arrived. He's outside waiting for his things," Miyuki calls after him, though he isn't sure if the swimmer will acknowledge that into his exceedingly long bath times, as Furuya relates to him.

Speaking of whom, the pitcher is dead asleep on  _someone_   _else's_  bed, and Miyuki lets the flames of irrational jealousy burn for a bit before squashing them down. Mostly.

"Toru," He prods the other with a finger to the cheek. "Wake up."

Furuya shifts and curls up even further, mumbling something indecipherable.

"Toru," Miyuki murmurs, close to his ear. "You've got some nerve to keep me waiting for an hour," he says darkly. "In the  _cold_."

Furuya sits up abruptly, eyes wide. "Miyuki-senpai," he breathes. "I'm," he pauses, taking in his surroundings. "I'm sorry. I—"

Miyuki smiles, shark-like. "Get up."

Furuya obeys, stumbling after Miyuki sleepily back to his own room. He sits himself on his bed and can't resist lying down despite the annoyed protest that Miyuki huffs at him—his eyes feel so strained and dead from staring at the screen for so many hours. He can't really remember when they actually went to sleep. If, they went to sleep.

"If you're going to sleep, I'm going home," Miyuki mutters sourly, but before he stands up to leave, Furuya catches him by the wrist, looking at him imploringly.

"Miyuki-senpai, don't leave…"

Miyuki presses his lips together, still miffed about—well, the waiting and the circumstances of the wait—and Furuya pushes himself up drowsily, arms curling around Miyuki's waist and leaning his head in the crook of the other's neck. He feels Miyuki freeze for a moment before exhaling under his weight, a hand coming back to rest on the back of his head.

"Make it up to me," Miyuki says eventually, and Furuya nods very faintly, eyes slipping close. "…Oi, don't fall back asleep so fast!"

* * *

Suna watches Miyuki disappear inside the apartment like a seasoned visitor curiously. The other had said 'third' flatmate, which implies that he's the last one to move in—though, he had thought that he was moving in relatively early, seeing that it's still mid-March, unless his other two flatmates are sport athletes. A cold gust of wind blows by and Suna thinks about the blanket that Yamato and Takeo had given him a couple of years ago for his birthday. He's packed it with his things, which he unfortunately won't get until the delivery van comes. After a bit more slow pacing outside, he decides to enter the flat to wait instead.

It's clean and rather modern, except for the tatami flooring and low table with cushions in the living room. There's only one open bedroom door that Suna assumes it's his—nothing fancy, but nothing to complain about either. He eventually sits himself at the low table to wait since there's nothing else to do, and busies himself with replying a text Takeo had sent him earlier.

Whilst he's smiling at the picture Takeo had sent of him and Yamato at the entrance of Hakuto University, the bathroom door opens, letting out a stream of hot steam that Suna unconsciously relaxes into; the apartment is a lot colder than it should be, come to think of it.

A short black haired male with large towel hung over his frame blinks at him, water gently dripping to the floor with every second that he stands there. Suna nearly looks away in politeness, then he realises that the other is wearing swimsuit jammers on his legs.

"Hello," Suna nods, and his—presumably—flatmate nods back. "Sunakawa Makoto. Pleased to meet you."

Something flashes in the other's eyes at the mention of his first name, but Suna lets it slide.

"Nanase Haruka," Haru says in reply. "Likewise."

Silence lapses after their introduction. Haru eyes the newcomer, while Suna looks back at the other without so much a word. Suna doesn't feel any hostility behind the other's stare, but instead a silent sort of curiosity.

"Ah, there was someone else who came in earlier…"

"That's Miyuki-san," Haru answers, cocking his head lightly to the middle bedroom door. "He's Satoru's senior."

"I see."

Suna blinks when Haru abruptly sneezes in their second lapse of silence. "You should change up," he says, and Haru looks down at himself and nods.

Haru disappears for less than a minute into his room and comes out fully dressed, making his way to the kitchen and carrying out a pot of tea and two ceramic mugs with him. Suna thanks him quietly for the hospitality as Haru shuffles to sit next to him, not saying anything much in particular.

"You don't have to keep me company," Suna says after ten minutes between them of just sipping hot tea.

"It's fine," Haru replies, staring at his tea before flicking his gaze to Suna. "Are you cold?"

Suna, who has been rubbing his hands together under the table, pauses. "…A little," he admits.

"Satoru doesn't like the heat," Haru says in some way of explanation, and he gets up to walk towards the corridor of their front door. He comes back a few seconds later. "I turned the temperature up so it should feel better."

"Thank you."

Despite the rather stoic personality—not that Suna can say much for himself in that aspect either—his flatmate seems like a considerate person, someone he'd probably be able to get along with, though in terms of speaking, they aren't doing very much. Suna wonders if he should attempt conversation or let it be seeing as both of them don't seem very inclined to talk. He, does, however, notice the way Haru stares at his cup of tea, and the gentle traces the other's finger on the table top, like he's sketching the outline of it.

"Nanase-san," he begins. "What do you study?"

"Art," Haru answers, eyes darting up. "…'Haru' is fine," he says after a moment. "It's only fair for all of us."

Suna pauses on that last sentence, but he figures he'll understand that in time. "Then, 'Suna', for me."

Haru nods, taking another sip of his tea. "Are you hungry?" he asks.

"I'm okay."

"I'm cooking mackerel," Haru continues, with a certain sort of dead set gleam in his eyes. "It's good for you."

Suna agrees because well, it is, and Haru stands up this time to disappear into the kitchen. There isn't time to dwell much on what the other is really doing because Suna's phone vibrates, signalling a call from the delivery van. For the next half an hour he directs the delivery employees to carry his things in, and leaves a fair gratuity tip because he knows full well how heavy some of his boxes are, being filled with just books.

"Suna."

Suna glances at the low table where Haru is already halfway into his grilled mackerel and rice combination, and sees that there is another portion set out for him. He had initially planned to go to the cafeteria once his things were delivered, but he can't refuse a meal that has been cooked for him. He takes his seat and thanks the other quietly.

"You didn't have to."

"It's good for you," Haru repeats, swallowing another mouthful of rice.

Suna looks at the grilled fish, light charring in the right areas. He murmurs a thanks for the food and picks a portion to put into his mouth. It's soft and sweet and salted delicately.

"It's good," he says, fully meaning it.

Haru's eyes glimmer in pride.

* * *

Miyuki wakes, only because his phone is vibrating in his back pocket so much that his ass feels itchy. He groans, trying to turn over to his side but a strong arm hold around his waist prevents him from doing so. Eventually he gives up, hand fumbling into his pocket to fish out his phone. He can't see very well without his glasses—he vaguely wonders where he had placed them before succumbing to this particular afternoon nap—but he has a rough guess on who is calling him like a frantic housewife.

"What do you want," he mutters, voice rough from sleep, the moment he presses the answer button.

" _Kazuya—_!"

Miyuki winces and holds the phone away from his ear the second Mei's obnoxious voice yells loud enough to be heard at least beyond their closed door.

"You always do this, having fun with your boy toy while I'm starving here—"

"Mei, shut up for a moment," Miyuki orders, blinking his eyes to get his brain awake.

"What, were you having sex?" Mei snorts without a hint of remorse. "If you don't get back here I'm going to turn on the stove and—"

"Don't you fucking dare," Miyuki hisses. "Just. Stay put. I'll be back."

"You better damn well—"

Miyuki ends the call before the other can finish his sentence. He groans under his breath and squints to look at the time on his phone. "Shit, I didn't realise it's this late," he mutters, because Mei is going to  _rub that in_  when he gets back.

He tries to sit up, but Furuya's arm around his waist is unforgiving. "Toru," he sighs, prodding at the arm. "I know you're awake. I need to go, or the spoilt princess is going to give me hell over the next week."

Furuya mumbles something too soft to hear near his neck, the arm curling even tighter.

"Satoru," Miyuki begins, impatient, and Furuya obeys.

As Miyuki picks his glasses off the floor, Furuya sits up slowly and tucks his legs underneath him.

"Miyuki-senpai…are you angry?"

Miyuki pauses, rubbing the sleep in his eyes away while his back is turned towards Furuya. He isn't exactly angry—but he did think that they'd be doing other things then sleep the entire afternoon away, even if that's Furuya's favourite past time. They don't really have time during the weekdays, and he thought that maybe they could play catch today considering Furuya, as a newcomer, isn't assigned to be battery with him as of yet. He'd never thought he'd miss catching Furuya's pitches—but he has to keep that a secret, who knows what Furuya might do if the other realises this.

"I'm not mad," Miyuki says, but Furuya looks guilty, gaze flickered to his hands. Miyuki smirks lightly. "But you'll make it up to me anyway, right?"

Miyuki honestly has no idea why he ever expects Furuya to blush at his words, because Furuya is much more likely to do things like reaching for his hand and staring straight into his eyes, with a flat reply of "…I can make it up to you tonight. Will you stay?"

_How can you always say things like this_ , Miyuki wonders with frustration curling up his belly when Furuya leans forwards and cups his jaw to kiss him sweetly. Heat involuntarily pools at the bridge of his nose, especially with the gentle way Furuya handles his neck, sighing into his mouth and slowly playing their tongues together lovingly. Miyuki exhales, giving in to the show of affection, one hand pulling at the bottom of Furuya's shirt to tug him closer. He kisses back a little bit deeper, rougher, and hungrier, until he pulls back for air with a string of saliva connecting between their lips.

He licks it away. "…Not that easy," he murmurs, eyes glinting. "I want a full day."

Furuya's cheeks are flushed as he nods, though he still looks unhappy when Miyuki extracts himself away and adjusts his hair.

"I'll see you at Monday practice. Don't be late," Miyuki warns when his hand is on the doorknob. "By the way, you should say hi to the new flatmate you  _completely_  ignored today."

Furuya blinks, as if suddenly remembering that. "Miyuki-senpai—"

"You'll be fine," Miyuki smiles, a little less teasing and more encouraging this time. "Just be yourself."

The pitcher gives a slow nod.

* * *

Furuya shuffles his feet outside the third bedroom doorway, though the door is swung wide open. He isn't really sure how to step in and break the ice. He peeks in silently first, seeing a blond kneeling on the floor with half opened boxes around him shifting things out of it. He spots Haru in a far corner next to an open box picking out books and placing them into a neat stack by his side. He must've stood a little too close, because the blond looks up and gives him a curious stare.

"Hello."

Furuya nods, padding forward to kneel on the floor in front of his new flatmate. "Furuya Satoru," he says, bowing slightly.

"Sunakawa Makoto," the other bows back politely.

Suna eyes him for a moment before subtly glancing over towards the third occupant in the room. Haru ignores them, apparently absorbed into one of the covers of his books. They look astonishingly similar like except the height, which is a coincidence he can't really shake off, though Haru seems to have no qualms being in his presence, while Furuya looks at him like he's not entirely sure why he's here.

"…Can you help me with those books?" Suna asks, gaze towards the half-unpacked box on his left.

The air around Furuya brightens, though no smile comes across the face. Suna watches Furuya for a bit, the gentle and earnest way the other carries the books out, though a little clumsy with the heavy ones, and also Haru who is still looking at the book cover—it's a picture of a waterfall?—intently. He leaves them with his books while he sorts his clothes into the closet. When he's done, Haru is flicking through that same book he was fascinated with earlier with his knees up, while Furuya is gazing at one particular page of an encyclopaedia—not entirely sure why he packed that to be honest—with animals and annotations on it printed large.

"You can borrow those if you like," Suna says, and both of them look up before giving a small nod.

Suna hides a smile.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suna...in a speedo  
> (not really :P)

Over the next week Suna learns that his flatmates have habits that are difficult to classify as normal—for one, Haru seems to eat  _only_  fish and nothing else, and spends an inordinate amount of time in the bath with his swimsuit, while Furuya has made weird steady noises in his room at night until Suna realises it's the sound of a ball hitting against the ceiling, has a knack for oversleeping when the central heating in their apartment is set too high and has a senior who comes back with him every so often to cook their dinner.

The days are quiet where other two are out for their sport trainings—swimming and baseball, Suna notices with the gear, while since he's on an academic scholarship, there isn't much to do besides exploring the area or shopping for necessities before term starts. His sister, who is also in Tokyo for work, comes by one evening, curious as to how his flatmates look like after a general comment about their similar appearances, but it so happened that neither Haru nor Furuya came back for dinner that day.

He spends most of his time reading the latest Haruki Murakami book  _Colorless Tsukuru and His Years of Pilgrimage_ , and he's up to the last chapter when there is a quiet knock on his door during Friday night. Suna doesn't register it at first, having been too used to Takeo opening the door at the other's own prerogative, but on the second knock he sets his book down and glances at his door curiously.

"Come in."

"Suna," Haru stands with Furuya behind him, the taller youth shuffling his feet further outside. "Do you want to play a video game?"

Suna doesn't really play gadgets much—neither he nor Takeo owns a console, and he's pretty much filled his time with books over the years. But Haru looks at him expectantly for an answer and he guesses it can't hurt to socialise with his flatmates.

"Okay," he agrees, and follows the other two towards Haru's room.

Haru's room is a lot more square shaped than his elongated one, with the curtains, bedsheets and comforter in varying shades of light and dark blue. It suits the other a lot, somehow. There's a photo on the desk of Haru with four boys Suna doesn't recognise, and he notices that Haru has a small smile on his lips. Haru sits himself on the bed while Furuya plants himself at the foot of it, facing the flatscreen. Suna takes a seat beside Furuya, who ducks his head in greeting, and he nods back politely.

There are only two controllers, so Haru gives them to the other two first, starting up with a game of  _Metal Slug_. It seems like neither of them has played it before, so he explains the controls while the screen plays a demo—it's simple run and gun game, where they have to shoot constantly at a continual stream of enemies to get to the end of each level.

Ten minutes later, Suna side eyes the dark tension surrounding Furuya who's fired up and insistent about jumping up a tree to collect a particular weapon despite dying at least five times in succession. Haru slips down beside Suna silently and holds out his hand for the controller—Suna relinquishes it without too much thought, and then he sees the character that he was playing jumping up to that particular tree, snatching the weapon power up and nonchalantly continuing down their supposed path.

Furuya's aura flares even hotter after that, his avatar bounding after Haru's in the game.

Suna watches Haru complete the level without even dying once, noticing the certain triumphant gleam in the other's eyes even though no words are said when the congratulatory screen is played. They move on to the next level, and the next, and the  _next_ —and during one of the levels where Suna and Haru are playing while it's Furuya's turn to watch, Suna blinks when a heavy weight slumps on his shoulder.

Furuya dozes lightly on him, breaths even.

Haru glances over when Suna looks at him for some kind of comment.

"It's late," Haru says, eyes turning back to the screen while jabbing the buttons on the console furiously.

There is no visible clock from Suna's angle, but he can roughly guess a number of hours have passed. Haru doesn't seem to have any interest in pausing the game, so Suna finishes up the level with him before he sets the controller down to shake Furuya lightly.

"Furuya-san."

There is zero movement.

Haru watches him futilely try to wake Furuya up until he crawls over to the other side of the pitcher.

"Satoru," Haru prods Furuya's rib, and then again harder when there is no response. "Wake up."

On the third prod, Furuya jerks awake, head lifting from Suna's shoulder and blinking sleepily. He looks between Haru and Suna, and then his eyelids start to slide close again.

"You can sleep here," Haru says in offering, but Furuya doesn't seem like he's heard him, eyes already closed. "Ah, he's asleep again."

Suna observes this. "…I can take him back to his room."

"If you want," Haru replies, standing up to go back to his previous place beside Suna. "Do you want to play one more level?"

Suna doesn't really know why he says  _okay_ , probably because there's no reason to say  _no_ , but several hours later when sunlight creeps through the curtains, he blinks awake from the hunger bubbling inside his stomach and finds himself sandwiched between the other sleeping two; Furuya has gone back to dozing on his shoulder, while Haru leans against his left arm, head tilted back to rest on the bed.

It's a start to an interesting flatmate life.

* * *

It's weird having Makoto so far away for an extended period of time, Haru tells Makoto this over the phone one night while soaking in the tub over speaker mode. He's bored out of his mind and he doesn't feel like playing video games—and water is the only thing else that really makes him happy at the moment. He lifts his hands from the water and lets it drip back down as Makoto chuckles.

"But, you're making new friends, Haru. Isn't that fun?"

It is a bit…strange…that he doesn't mind his flatmates at all, but he guesses it has more to do that they seem to be  _like_  him, which is easy to understand. Still, it's not the same.

"When are you coming back to Tokyo?" he asks instead.

"My flight is on Sunday afternoon."

Haru frowns. "Isn't it cutting it too close?" Especially since the academic term starts on the Monday right after.

"Well, my parents wanted me to stay in Iwatobi as long as I could, so…" Makoto answers, but when there's just a long slate of silence, Makoto smiles gently. "Haru, are you sulking?"

"I'm not," Haru mutters, playing with surface of the water in the tub. "I'm bored. I want to swim. With you."

Makoto makes a cross between a laugh and a sound of agreement. "Ah, but, isn't it too cold to swim yet?"

Haru snorts. "I have a heated pool here, remember?"

"Yeah, but I'm not one of the university students—"

"It's nothing to worry about," Haru dismisses it easily. "You can take Satoru or Suna's pass card."

"Haru, did you even ask them?" Makoto sighs. "Besides, what if we get caught—"

"It's nothing to worry about," Haru repeats, final. "Just come back already."

"Yes, yes," Makoto chuckles. "Hey," he starts after a pause. "Why don't you swim with them this weekend?"

Haru stills, eyes blinking. He hadn't considered that until Makoto said it. "…Maybe," he says eventually, because he wants to swim with  _Makoto_ , but it's not such a bad idea since Makoto is nowhere near enough to acquiesce to his demand just yet.

"Mmm," Makoto hums indulgently. "Tell me how it goes."

* * *

Haru thinks about it intermittently over the week, busy with his training schedule. It's only on Sunday morning when he's taking his bath while imagining Makoto panicking around the house for things the other would think he might forget to pack for his return trip that he debates going to the pool by himself in the afternoon or to invite his flatmates along. When the bathroom door opens and Furuya stumbles in either oblivious or ignoring the hot steam from the tub to head towards the sink, Haru makes up his mind.

"Satoru," he calls when Furuya lifts his head from washing his face.

Furuya blinks, turning to look at the occupied tub. It's not the first time that Furuya has walked in Haru's morning bath rituals whilst still in a sleepy daze over the past weeks to brush his teeth, and Haru doesn't really care or mind, to be honest.

"…Morning," Furuya says slowly, nodding his head.

Haru nods back, question direct on his tongue. "Do you want to swim?"

Furuya blinks again, looking surprised, but then the other eventually curls his index fingers together. "…I don't know how to."

Haru stares—because he hasn't exactly anticipated that, everyone  _should_  be able to swim, it's a  _lifeskill_ , a  _necessity_ , but then he remembers the time when Rei couldn't, but the thing is, Rei  _can_ , now. He stands up from the tub, uncaring about the water dripping over the floor or the cold air as he makes his way out and towards Suna's room. Suna answers his door on his second knock. The blond's gaze darts down his half-naked body before settling back on his face.

"Suna, can you swim?"

"…Yes," Suna answers hesitantly, unsure where the swimmer is going with this, looking so harried and urgent.

Haru seems a little more mollified at his statement. "Do you have a swimsuit?"

"I didn't pack it along."

Haru frowns, as though he can't understand why anyone wouldn't bring one—and casts his glance back to Furuya who had trotted up to them uncertainly. Suna wonders what just happened between the two.

Haru is still staring at Furuya when he finally says, "Let's get one today."

* * *

No one really agrees with Haru's split second decision, but no one disagrees either, so they somehow find themselves in a mall in Shibuya. Haru leads the way while Furuya trails after him, the pitcher casting his glances around like he hasn't been to this particular place before. Suna takes a more relaxed pace behind the two, silently watching the people casting their odd trio glances—a lot of them are drawn to the two in front, especially Furuya who has a good build and stands really tall, but both of them seem oblivious to the attention.

Haru zeros in on the swimwear section when they get to the correct level. Despite the huge range of swimwear, goggles and other swimming related apparatus, Haru navigates the area with ease, coming to stop by in front of a rack. He reaches out for one pair of jammers, but stops himself in time.

"…What kind do you like?" he asks, turning to look at Furuya.

Furuya looks at him and then glances over to Suna with a subtle plea in his eyes for help.

"Do you prefer something that will go past your knees or something shorter?" Suna rephrases, pointing to some of the models on display. "Like that one, or that?"

Furuya gazes between the pair of speedos and legskin before settling back on Haru. "What about the one you wear?"

Haru's eyes brighten minutely, attention turning towards the rack in front of them. "This one," he says, pressing a pair into Furuya's hands.

It's almost exactly the same style that Haru wears, Suna notices, with coloured strips lining the V of the hips except they're light blue instead of purple. Furuya takes them uncertainly and stands still until Suna points him towards the direction of the changing room. Haru continues to look at the swimsuit rack, shifting through until he makes a satisfied noise, taking out two pairs to scrutinise. They're both  _exactly_  the same as the one Suna has seen Haru wearing, but decides not to comment.

"I'm going to try this one," Haru says after a while, and takes the one in his left hand towards the changing rooms.

Suna sits himself at the seat in front of the changing rooms while the other two are busy inside. Haru is the first to pull the curtain away, despite Furuya entering several minutes more. The swimmer stretches in front of the mirror, feeling for comfort and fit.

"How is this?"

Suna smiles and nods. "It suits you."

Haru eyes his own reflection in the mirror for a bit more before nodding decisively. "I'll get this," he says before pulling the curtain shut again.

After Haru comes out and more minutes tick by with no movement from the cubicle that Furuya has entered, Suna and Haru's eyes meet. Before Suna can say anything, the black-hair male blithely walks up to the curtain.

"Satoru," is all the warning Haru gives before yanking it back.

To Furuya's credit, the other doesn't jump in shock, merely turning around when he notices that the curtain is drawn and his flatmates are looking at him curiously. The pitcher only has on the pair of jammers, his fit body in full display for everyone in the store to see.

"How is it?" Suna asks.

Furuya picks at the edge of the swimsuit at his hip. "…It's tight," he says, with not much feeling.

"Turn around," Haru orders, and Furuya obeys.

While Haru stares at the other in deep thought, Suna blinks when he sees a red spot at the bottom of Furuya's neck. It can easily be passed off as a mosquito bite, but the weather is still a bit too cold for the mosquito season, and besides, though faint, that's  _definitely_  a bite mark in the center of it.

"You will be good at butterfly," Haru says finally, much to Furuya's blank confusion. "Suna, you pick one too."

Suna stands up when the other two look at him expectantly. "…Okay," he agrees, taking his time to look at the range on display.

He's mostly ever wore boardshorts since it's usually just for going to the beach, but he figures that the kind of swimming that Haru intends to bring them to is very much the proper kind. While he's still looking at a possible style that he would want, Haru comes up to him and hands him a pair of black speedos with no change in his expression whatsoever.

"This one."

"…Something with a little more length," Suna says finally, and at the end of his sentence, Furuya comes up to them holding the same style of jammers that the pitcher is still wearing, but with amber coloured stripes.

Suna wonders if he should say something to Furuya about changing back to his own clothes, but since no one else comments about it he shrugs and takes the offered pair. Somehow the next hour ends up with him in the changing room while Haru and Furuya bring in a continual stream of swimsuits for him to try—with the pitcher still bare-bodied, perhaps enjoying the cool air conditioning on his skin—until finally he looks down at the legskin that he's wearing and halts the bodysuit that Haru holds out to him.

"This one is fine."

Haru looks at it with an indiscernible expression, but when Furuya nods in agreement, the swimmer acquiesces.

"Goggles," Haru says suddenly, looking at them both, and Suna braces himself for at least an hour more in the store.

* * *

It's nearly evening by the time that they exit the shop, Haru looking the most satisfied with their purchases. Suna vaguely wonders if they should get dinner out as they make to leave the mall, not concentrating on their route until Furuya tugs him by the sleeve and he halts in his steps.

Haru has set his things down and has made way towards a water feature nearby, fingers deft on the buttons of his shirt. Within seconds the shirt is off and the hands start on the buttons of his pants—Suna stares, turning to look at Furuya who glances back at him with a slightly unsure expression—by this time, Haru has already shoved his pants down.

Suna doesn't know whether he should be surprised to see Haru wearing his swimsuit underneath.

"Um," Furuya mumbles, but the protest is unheard as Haru nonchalantly steps into the base of the fountain.

Suna and Furuya stare at that their flatmate clearly enjoying himself underneath the stream of water spouting in the middle of the mall. This has got to be one of the weirdest things Suna has ever witnessed—and he has witnessed plenty with his time with Takeo. He's sure it has to be the same for Furuya too, who fidgets, seemingly torn about wanting to say  _something_. People start to stop and stare at the man in the fountain display, scandalised whisperings starting to arise.

After a minute of closed eyes in the fountain, Haru flicks his wet hair back and gazes towards the two watching him. "The water is nice."

Suna doesn't doubt that, considering the positively content expression the other has on. Then, Haru narrows his eyes curiously at them and they both unconsciously take a step back, nearly bumping into each other.

"Hey, you! What do you think you're doing?" A security guard storms up towards them, scowling. "Get out of the fountain!"

Haru completely ignores the guard, but he's forced out of the water feature with a stern reprimanding that seems to fall on deaf ears. Suna decides to step in before the commotion gets bigger—he bows and apologises for the trouble, and that it won't happen again; though Suna already inwardly knows this is a total  _lie_ —and the guard eventually huffs and walks off muttering  _youngsters these days_ under his breath.

The moment that they're left alone, Haru glances back at the water fountain with a certain gleam in his eyes—this time, Furuya blocks his way and shakes his head. Eventually Haru concedes, pulling on his shirt over his still wet body, unfazed.

"…Is this normal?" Furuya asks while Haru buttons up his shirt.

"Yes."

Perhaps it's the deadpan serious way that Haru  _means_  it with no hesitation, this one tips the scale. Suna abruptly coughs, hand shooting up to cover his mouth before he gives into the temptation to giggle. The other two shoot him similar curious expressions with their blue eyes glimmering, like they can't understand why  _anyone_  would want to laugh at this situation—but he  _does_ , and he can't help the chuckles slipping past his lips.

It's just, he's never met anyone so obsessed with  _water_ —the long soaks in their tub, the wearing of jammers twenty-four seven, being a competitive swimmer who swims daily and yet  _still_  swims for leisure, the complete ignorance for authority and social norms just to step into the public water feature—it's.

It's special.

And. And Furuya, who seems to  _believe_ Haru, just like that—

Suna laughs quietly for real this time, under the back of his hand, while Haru and Furuya both peer at him, eyes unblinking.

"…You should laugh like that more often," Haru says after, when they're all on the train back home, glancing towards Furuya as if for affirmation, which the pitcher gives with a nod of his head.

Suna smiles, unfazed. "So should you two."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I didn't mention before, Makoto/Haru is SLOW BURN and the slow burn kind of starts from here :D
> 
> Miyuki also has his issues which you can prolly guess

The weekend passes and college term starts.

The first week of the academic term is mostly orientation and trial classes for various modules. Haru mostly knows what he's going to take—he's better with fine art than computer-based art skills, which makes it easy to cross out the modules he knows he's bad at. He sits in a few of the introductory lectures, but his days are mostly free for now. On Wednesday he only has a one hour block in the morning for art theory, so he decides to do a bit of grocery shopping and perhaps have some personal time in the pool later.

When he comes back to his flat with three grocery bags, he doesn't really expect any of his flatmates to be in at the time—which is why he freezes in his steps and two fingers loosen from his right hand when he walks into the kitchen, stunned at the scene before him.

Furuya's face is buried into the juncture of Miyuki's neck, hands shoved right up the other's shirt and pressing him hard against the sink, while Miyuki has one hand on the back of Furuya's nape and the other half-pulling the pitcher's shirt off.

"…—Satoru," Miyuki breathes quietly, eyes closed in pleasure at  _whatever_  Furuya is doing.

Haru stares, and then Miyuki's eyes abruptly fly open wide to meet his.

"Toru," Miyuki hisses, hand retracting from underneath the other's shirt. " _Furuya_."

At the sound of his family name, Furuya stops immediately, leaning back. Haru looks at both their flushed faces, one looking guiltier than the other. Judging from the matching red lips and messy hair, Haru guesses they've probably been at it for a while. Miyuki rubs his neck at the same spot where Furuya's face was previously, though he holds a wary steely glint in his eyes.

The tension is thick with no one saying anything, until Haru takes the first step towards the refrigerator. He ignores the other two and proceeds to shelve his things as though he hadn't just walked in on his flatmate having some  _dubious relations_  with his senior. He doesn't really know how to react to that; it's not really his business, and it's also something he didn't really think about until he  _saw_  it, and it's not like it's something that really affects him...

Miyuki eyes Haru like he's waiting for the other to say something in response, and so Haru does.

"You can continue if you like," he says bluntly before walking out.

* * *

During dinner, Furuya fidgets in his seat while Haru chews and swallows his mackerel. Furuya pushes his fried noodles around to gather them into a roll before picking them up to eat. Suna is nowhere to be seen—perhaps dealing with his own orientation activities—which leaves them in silence, especially after incident in the afternoon. Haru notices that Furuya looks like he wants to say something but doesn't know the right words to say it, and so he continues eating quietly until a question of his own pops into his mind.

"Have you always been..." Haru starts, but he realises halfway that he doesn't know how to complete the sentence. "…with...Miyuki-san?"

Furuya's aura turns a little lighter as he nods.

"How long?"

"Two years," Furuya answers, and if Haru is surprised at that, he doesn't show it. "What…about you?"

Haru glances over minutely, eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Furuya blinks at the same time Haru blinks at him. "Um, with Tachibana-san…" Furuya begins in that quiet voice of his.

"Makoto?" Haru clarifies, sounding bewildered and his frown gets deeper. "…We're…not like that," he replies, eating another small mouthful before he swallows. "Why do you say that?"

Furuya meets his curious stare. "He…reminds me of Miyuki-senpai," the other says finally.

_In what way_ , Haru narrows his eyes, not entirely understanding how Furuya ever came to that conclusion considering the pitcher had only met Makoto  _once_  so far—but to be honest, Haru doesn't really have a strong enough impression of Miyuki to agree or disagree with that statement either. But he does know he's never met anyone like Makoto, nor will anyone else be like what Makoto is to him,  _ever_.

"Not really," he says, and eats another mouthful.

* * *

At the end of the week, Haru doesn't stay for extra minutes in the pool after practice so that he can go pick Makoto up at the train station. It's insanely busy as he waits at the exit—workers and students and people alike washing through the station gates as trains come and go, but he recognises Makoto's figure from the distance instantly when the other comes through the gates with a backpack on his shoulders.

"Haru!" Makoto smiles widely when the other sees him leaning against a pillar, hand waving. "It's been a while!"

"You're late, Makoto," Haru mutters in greeting.

"I'm sorry, my group wanted to discuss a date to meet up for this project we've been assigned," Makoto explains, sighing. "It's only the first week, too…"

Haru listens as Makoto fills him in on his first week at college—which sounds a lot more hectic than his own—and also more of what Nagisa, Rei and Gou were doing for the swimming club's performance to draw in new members for the upcoming year as Haru leads him back to Todai's dorms.

"So, how's training?"

"The same," Haru answers non-committedly.

Makoto smiles knowingly. "I'm glad you're settling in, Haru."

Haru makes a small noise.

"Hey, did Rin tell you that he might be coming to Tokyo? He said it wasn't confirmed, but his school might be doing a friendly competition with yours."

Haru suddenly remembers all the missed calls he has collected on skype in the past week from the certain redhead, complete with a whole list of  _HARU CALL ME BACK YOU ASS_  and other variations of it on the chat log.

Makoto laughs when he sees Haru's face. "You should receive his calls at least once in a while," the taller says.

"I wasn't around. And it's not like he can't just tell me over the chat," Haru mutters, pulling his jacket a little closer to his body.

It's getting warmer as it bleeds into spring, but Haru has his habit of always dressing too lightly for the occasion. Makoto notices his body shiver and tries to give his scarf, but Haru refuses since they're already walking up the stairwell. His hands becomes a little too cold for him to hold his key properly, so Makoto takes over.

The first thing that Makoto does when he opens the door is to yelp and jump at least a meter back in surprise.

"—I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—uh, I didn't mean to—" Makoto bursts out, face flushing red.

Haru peers in curiously to see what elicited that—Miyuki has his hands around Furuya's jaw tilting the other's face down while they kiss, though that breaks apart with Makoto's disruption—Haru sees an irritated gleam bypass Miyuki's eyes before it soothes out quickly.

"It's fine," Miyuki assures, hand curling around Furuya's wrist. "We're. We're going out, anyway," he says.

"Oh, um, then don't let us keep you," Makoto manages, face still red.

Miyuki smiles, though it's not entirely innocent. "Mmm. We'll see you guys later, if you're still around," he says, pulling Furuya along out of the apartment.

Furuya nods once towards both Haru and Makoto, and Makoto gives the other than awkward wave as they go. It's silent for a minute as Makoto stares after the empty stairwell that the other two had disappeared to, until Haru jabs Makoto's side and the taller yelps.

"Haru—!"

"Let's go in," Haru says, cocking his head to the open door.

He notices that Makoto's flush hasn't really disappeared even after settling down at the low table, backpack stored in his room.

"…Do you think it's weird?" Haru asks, and Makoto flinches, like he's been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to.

"N-not really," Makoto answers, scratching the back of his neck nervously at the way that Haru's eyes pierce into him—Haru probably knows what he's thinking about, anyway. "As long as they love each other, I think it's great."

Haru considers his response, and narrows his eyes further. "So…why is your face still so red?"

"Eh?" Makoto blinks, eyes going wide in panic. "I-I'm just surprised! To walk in on them like that, I didn't know they were—um, t-together," he finishes. "Did you?"

Haru nods. "I found out earlier this week," he replies, nonchalant. "…Makoto," he starts, so quiet that Makoto pauses. "Are you…like that?"

"L-like…?"

"Guys," Haru clarifies bluntly.

"Oh, um," Makoto swallows, floundering for a bit. "I, uh, never thought about it."

Somehow Haru immediately  _knows_  that Makoto is lying—but he's more confused on  _why_  Makoto lies this time—the other should know that he can tell, much like how Makoto can always tell when  _he's_  lying. He waits for a bit to see if Makoto will change or qualify his answer, but the other doesn't, and Haru decides to leave it, this time, because… _he_  hasn't thought about it. He doesn't have much to say about it, and he's not really sure why he asked that, anyway.

"Haru?"

"It's nothing," Haru dismisses. "What do you want to eat? I have mackerel."

"Mackerel? Again?" Makoto sighs, slumping forward on the table.

"It's good for you."

"Haru…" Makoto whines, because they've probably been through  _every_  variation of this conversation by now. "Let's order pizza, please?"

"Then, I want pineapples and mackerel on it."

Makoto groans, but then he sees the edges of Haru's lips cracking upwards as Haru tosses his phone at him. "If you don't order, I will."

Makoto scrambles for the phone.

* * *

When doorbell rings, Suna ventures out of his room to see who's at the door, but instead he sees Haru tilting his head at him from the low table and the smell of freshly ovened pizza wafting down their corridor. A taller brown haired male comes trotting up to them with two large pizza boxes, eyes lighting up pleasantly when he sees Suna.

"Makoto," Haru starts. "This is Suna."

Makoto sets his boxes down, smile widening. "Ah, Haru told me we have the same name," he says, chuckling a bit. "Pleased to meet you. Thank you for indulging Haru last week, I am  _so sorry_  about what happened at the fountain—"

Suna bows back politely. "Not at all. The pleasure is mine."

"See, he doesn't mind it," Haru mutters into his palm.

"Anyone would, Haru," Makoto sighs, but he turns his smile up again at Suna. "I'm sorry we didn't realise you were in—would you like to join us? We ordered more than enough."

Suna declines since he has food in the fridge, but somehow under some kind of persuasive spell with the two other he ends up sitting in between them. He's sure that he's interrupting some kind of private time, especially with how he notices Haru's eyes are lit brighter than he's ever seen the other, and also Makoto seems to be really comfortable around the competitive swimmer despite being a visitor to the apartment. Nonetheless neither of them seemed very perturbed to have him join in for dinner; Haru picks at the pepperoni on the pizza and eats them while reading the fine print on the pizza box cover, while Makoto starts conversation with him, open and friendly.

Haru listens while his eyes are drawn to the pizza box—Makoto is no doubt a much better conversationalist than he is—and he finds out that Suna has an older sister here in Tokyo and is on academic scholarship for classic literature, which impresses Makoto who likes literature too.

"Wow, you must be really smart," Makoto says, awed. "Isn't that really amazing, Haru?"

"Mm."

Suna dips his head lightly in thanks. "What do you study, Tachibana-san?"

"I'm learning how to be a swimming coach," Makoto replies. "Haru and I used to swim together in high school, but I'm not nearly as talented as Haru is."

"Don't be stupid, Makoto," Haru murmurs. "Your backstroke is way faster than mine."

"Because you only swim free," Makoto laughs. "I taught children to swim for a while and I really loved it," he answers, eyes bright. "I'm thankful to be here in Tokyo to fulfil my dream."

* * *

The knob of the front door rustles an hour after they've demolished both pizzas, too full and lazy to move from the living room. Haru has started doodling some weird bird mascot on the pizza box while Makoto carries a conversation about—Harry Potter?—with Suna; Haru isn't invested in the series but he knows Makoto is a big fan and it turns out that Suna has read the books too.

"Tachibana, you're still here," Miyuki says when he enters, carrying a stuffed backpack with Furuya behind him holding a tin box. "Sunakawa, too. Good."

"Hi again," Makoto greets, flush faintly coming back when he remembers what transpired earlier. "Oh um, I'm staying over today, so…" he trails off when he sees that Furuya and Suna blink simultaneously. "…Haru, you didn't ask them if I could?"

The awkward silence lasts for about five seconds before Suna comes to the rescue. "I don't mind."

Miyuki stifles his laughter as he eyes Furuya. "Hey,  _you_  didn't tell either of them too, did you," he smirks. "I'm staying the night as well."

Furuya keeps silent, and looks towards his flatmates guiltily.

"It's fine," Haru says.

Suna nods with a smile.

"Well, I won't leave even if you guys said no," Miyuki answers honestly, hefting his backpack down. "Besides, I have a bribe."

Miyuki gestures Furuya forward and he takes the tin box from the other, setting it on the table. He opens it with a little bit of effort, the lid stuck tight, but the lift of it reveals a delicate sweet aroma of slightly burnt caramel. Four small ceramic cups with a light brown filling sit inside with disposable teaspoons for their ease.

"Go on. It's not poisoned," he says, grinning.

"Are you sure?" Makoto asks even as Haru and Furuya reach in first to take them. "What is this? It looks incredible."

"Crème brulee. I baked a little  _too_  much thanks to my annoying flatmate," Miyuki says, muttering at the end.

Makoto takes one, and Suna looks over when the last one is left in the tin box. "Miyuki-san," Suna gestures.

"Oh, no, I had my fill over the week when I was testing the recipe," Miyuki shakes his head. "It's for you guys."

It has been a while since Suna has eaten a sweet dessert— he's not likely to buy sweet cakes for himself, but he's used to the gifts that Yamato always bakes for him and Takeo. In his first mouthful, the custard melts on his tongue and slides down his throat easily, with a sweet crunch of the glazed caramel between his molars.

"Miyuki-san, you made this?" Makoto says faintly after he swallows the first time. "Wow, it's like from a patisserie…"

"Thanks," Miyuki says, watching the rest of them eat. "…I'm sorry about, ah,  _earlier_ ," he starts suddenly, looking towards Makoto who promptly chokes on his next spoonful. "If I gave you a scare."

"Oh, no!" Makoto coughs, struggling to breathe until Haru slaps his back,  _hard_. "No, it's completely fine!" he manages.

Haru eyes how Miyuki's lips curve into a smile that doesn't seem to really reach his eyes, gaze deliberately watching Suna instead of the person he's addressing.

"It's just, not everyone…approves…of Furuya and I being  _together_ , you know? So I'm glad you and Nanase are okay with it."

"O-of course," Makoto nods, frantic though understanding. "You can't help who you like, right?"

Haru is pretty sure this whole line of conversation is deliberate from start to finish—the way Miyuki keeps watching Suna from the corner of his eyes for  _something_ , Haru doesn't know what, and the way he relaxes when Suna merely nods along in agreement as though the other has known this all along and finishes up the crème brulee without so much a discomfort on his face.

Haru, however, misses the way Miyuki's hand trembles underneath the table to which Furuya laces their fingers together and holds his hand tight.

* * *

The next morning sees Miyuki stumbling out of Furuya's room with his glasses in his hand as he rubs his eyes—which is why his shin knocks into the low table and he curses rather extravagantly, only coming to a halt when someone coughs politely.

"Miyuki-san, are you alright?"

Makoto looks up from the newspaper that he was reading in the living room. The sounds of hot oil and the smell of fried fish waft from the kitchen, where Haru is whipping up their breakfast—no escape from mackerel this time.

"Uh, yeah," Miyuki says sheepishly, putting his glasses on. "That was embarrassing."

Makoto chuckles. "I'm almost blind without my contacts or glasses too," he gestures to the table where a pot of coffee and some ceramic cups sits. "Would you like coffee? Or breakfast?"

"Hmm, just coffee, thanks," Miyuki says as he settles down, and breathes in the hot aroma of the coffee beans.

He sighs when he gets one mouthful down, sleepiness starting to clear from his hazy mind. He and Furuya slept  _late_ —the reason in full view when he scratches his collarbone absentmindedly and accidentally flashes Makoto a dark hickey underneath the collar of his shirt. If Miyuki was less of a terrible person he would apologise or pretend he doesn't see Makoto averting his eyes in politeness with a red tinge to the other's cheeks, but he's not.

"We didn't have sex if that's what you're wondering."

"I-I—" Makoto splutters, nearly dropping his own coffee mug in shock as Miyuki laughs.

"It's fine if that  _was_  what you wanted to ask, though," Miyuki says, shrugging. "If you're curious," he pauses. "Or if we were too loud yesterday."

Makoto tries to yield most of the blood away from his face. "No, I wasn't really…" he mumbles. "Well, I was just…wondering how you met Furuya-kun," he ventures, hesitant. "Furuya-kun, he…"

"…looks a lot like Nanase, doesn't he," Miyuki finishes when Makoto trails off into a long stretch. "Yeah I thought—still think that is  _really_  weird, but I guess they say you have seven dopplegangers in the world," he shrugs. "Furuya—well, we're from Seido High. Baseball team."

"Seido?" Makoto murmurs at the name. "I don't really follow baseball, but that's…a really famous school for it, isn't it?"

Miyuki grins. "We've won the Nationals for last two years."

"Wow. So here in Todai, you also play…"

"I play the catcher position," Miyuki nods. "Furuya, as you know, is a pitcher. We were a battery in high school. You should watch our matches sometime."

"I'd love to," Makoto says, smiling.

"That's how I met him," Miyuki summarises, "But if your question was really about us  _getting together_ , then, he told me he liked me, and we went out."

The embarrassed blush on Makoto returns swiftly, though he squints his gaze curiously. "…Just like that?"

"Well," Miyuki coughs. "Not really. But eventually I said yes," he relates, though he furrows his eyebrows, trying to remember if he ever did say the word  _yes_. Probably not. "…He can be  _really_  stubborn about things. I guess I can be too, at others," he murmurs more to himself.

"But it worked out, didn't it?" Makoto puts in when a more serious mood seemed to settle.

"Yeah," Miyuki answers, sounding a little casual. "So, what about you and Nanase?"

"Huh?"

"Where did you guys meet?" Miyuki asks, smile slitting into a small smirk. "And/Or how you two got together."

"Haru and I aren't—we aren't—" Makoto stutters. "We aren't together like that," he manages finally. "We're childhood friends. Our parents were friends before we were born, and we grew up as neighbours too, though Haru's parents moved to Tokyo when we were in high school. We've been swimming together since I could remember," he relates, smiling. "We won the relay at the Nationals."

"Heh, you guys are good too."

"Thank you," Makoto grins, wide. "You should come and see Haru swim, though. You'll never want to play baseball again."

"Is that a bet?"

"Might be," Makoto replies, and Miyuki smiles at the sparkling glint in those green eyes.

Miyuki isn't in the habit of poking into other people's business—correction, he does, sometimes, for his own amusement—but he isn't looking for any personal glee when he asks this.

"So…what are you waiting for, Tachibana?"

"What do you mean?"

"About Nanase," Miyuki states bluntly.

"….I…really don't know what you're talking about," Makoto replies with his eyebrows furrowed, and Miyuki drops it when Haru exits the kitchen, holding two plates of fried mackerel.

"I'm done," Haru announces, completely ignoring the bewildered stare Miyuki gives to  _his apron, bare-body and jammers_  combination. "Miyuki-san, do you want mackerel?"

"Uh, no thanks," Miyuki says, excusing himself from the low table. "I'll go take a bath. Enjoy your… breakfast."

He somehow keeps in his laughter until he closes the bathroom door behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is furumiyu heavy oops

Suna is usually in the apartment before Furuya and Haru return—unless he has club activities, of which he’s still deciding between the literary club, film club or the community service club. On this particular day he’s washing up the pot he had used to cook some porridge for dinner when the front door clicks open, emitting one person inside. From the sound of the footsteps Suna can tell who it is—heavy and draggy means it’s Furuya, especially after a day of particularly tough training. Miyuki isn’t back with him but it’s not that unusual as the days move deeper into the month. Furuya trudges past the kitchen door with his bag and baseball gear slung over his shoulders.

“Good evening,” Suna greets, and Furuya takes a longer time than usual to lift his head and bow in greeting.

Furuya speaks even less than Haru. It’s not anything weird that the pitcher continues to his room without saying anything, but Suna glances at the closed door for a moment before continuing to wash up. Later, Suna keeps his door slightly ajar and hears Haru come back.

Suna notices that Furuya doesn’t come out from this room for entire night.

* * *

When the same thing happens again for the next two days in a row, Suna grows slightly concerned. As far as he knows Furuya isn’t eating dinner, and that’s dangerous for someone who’s involved in competitive sport. On the fourth day Miyuki comes into the apartment with Furuya and Suna notices that Furuya sits by himself in the living room rather than going straight into his room this time.

“Sunakawa,” Miyuki greets when he enters the kitchen with a bag of dried mushrooms. “Do you still need the stove?”

“It’s all yours,” Suna replies, moving his pot of soup off the stove and on a trivet.

“Watercress and black chicken soup, huh,” Miyuki says as he peers curiously into the pot. “Smells great. I’d love a recipe if you have one.”

Suna offers a portion, but Miyuki declines, explaining that he’s making soup too, with the dried mushrooms. As Suna checks the rice, Miyuki starts the kettle to boil some water and leans back against the kitchen counter, watching him.

“Hey, has To—Furuya been eating dinner?” Miyuki asks suddenly.

Suna pauses, turning around slowly. “He didn’t last night.”

Miyuki breathes out with a scowl. “Thought so,” he says, a little more to himself than anything.

“…Does he do that often?”

“Skipping dinner?” Miyuki hums as he transfers the hot water into the pot when the kettle whistles. “Once or twice,” he answers absentmindedly. “I think it’s the new environment. New school, new team, new training, you know?”

“I see.”

Suna leaves the older to his cooking as he takes his dinner to the low table to eat. The air around Furuya is really bright contrasting the dark gloomy aura for the past few days. Furuya picks at his baseball in his hand and Suna politely starts a few casual conversation questions until Miyuki pokes his head around to call Furuya into the kitchen.

It’s just a feeling, but Suna thinks that Furuya’s penchant for not eating might be a _little_ bit more than a new environment.

* * *

When it happens again next week, Suna decides to knock on Furuya’s door. He heard the pitcher come out of the bath but not step into the kitchen once. It’s not that late into the night yet, and Suna has some warm food to offer, but when he knocks the second time there is still no answer.

“Furuya-san?” he calls softly.

He knocks for a bit more and almost decides to return to his room when Haru steps out from his room with an empty water jug in hand, looking curiously at him.

“Suna,” Haru greets, with his eyes clearly asking, _what are you doing?_

“He hasn’t eaten dinner, I thought I should bring him some,” Suna explains, and Haru sets his jug down, coming to stand next to him.

“Maybe he’s not hungry.”

“It’s not the first time.”

Haru looks surprised, and his eyes narrow a little at Furuya’s door. “Satoru?” No answer. That deters Haru like about zero, who turns the knob. “I’m coming in,” he calls, and swings the door open.

Maybe they should’ve expected this, but Furuya is dead asleep, curled on the bed hugging a huge polar bear soft toy in just a loose pair of boxers. His face is buried in between the paws of the stuff toy, blanket haphazardly tossed over his legs. Suna and Haru look at each other before closing the door quietly. It’s an unspoken agreement to let the pitcher sleep and they part ways—Haru goes to the kitchen to fill his water jug and Suna returns to his room.

But while reading Natsume Soseki’s _Botchan_ late into the night, Suna taps his finger lightly on the table and wonders if there’s something he can or should, do.

* * *

The days creep by much faster than it feels, and it’s into late May when Suna walks past the field where the baseball team is practising in the evening after class. He knows the baseball team has many members, but it still surprises him how _big_ it really is; the hollering, yelling and shouting gets its loudness not from the volume that the players are shouting at but the sheer number of people on field. Suna glances towards a group of them frantically diving for ball that’s being batted at base, and towards another group practising their swings at the nets. He doesn’t see Furuya anywhere, but then he remembers that Furuya is a pitcher.

As he walks further long the fence, he hears the sound of balls slamming into mitts—he nears the bullpen where there are about four pairs of players standing a distance apart from their partners. He instantly recognises Miyuki who’s the furthest away from the fence, but the pitcher standing across him isn’t Furuya—instead, it’s a blond who swings his arm sideways sharply. In fact, Furuya isn’t in the bullpen at all.

“What do you think of _that_ , Kazuya?” The blond points haughtily, chin raised. 

“I think you’re throwing too high,” Miyuki answers nonchalantly, throwing the baseball back.

The other huffs indignantly. “I’m not asking about that, I’m asking if you think _you_ can catch it if I use it!”

“Of course _I_ can catch it, like I just did!”

“You call _that_ a catch?”

The heated bickering starts to get louder in volume though all other players in the bullpen ignores the duo. Suna watches them for a while, flickering his gaze over to the field again just to check if he had missed Furuya, but he doesn’t see his flatmate. He’s just begun to continue his walk back when a group of players come running past him in three straight rows, and he blinks when the familiar face he’s been looking out for passes by in that instant—Furuya is breathing heavily, looking dead on his feet as he drags himself on with the pace of the group.

Suna stares at the group retreating into the distance and glances back at the field thoughtfully.

* * *

First years are assigned to clear the field and bring the equipment back to the club room after every practice. This means that Furuya will be dragging the basket of baseballs into the musty room whilst Miyuki is at the other side of the field rehydrating and laughing with the rest of his seniors. It’s annoying but he understands that it’s tradition and meant to instil discipline; Seido had that too, but now even when he tries to find Miyuki for a quick second before he does his cleaning up duty, it keeps ending up like this:

“Miyuki-senpai—“

Miyuki turns at the call of his name, where Furuya is jogging up to him, voice soft due to the lack of breath. But Furuya never gets to say more than that when Miyuki is called yet again but a louder, more domineering yell.

“Kazuya!” Mei frowns at a distance away, sling bag already slung over his shoulder, impatient. “We’ve got a meeting with the coach _now_ , you can play with your boy—“

“I know that!” Miyuki snaps quickly. “Just, just hold on a minute!” he sighs, wiping the sweat off his forehead absentmindedly. “Furuya,” he starts. “Sorry, not today. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“What about after—…“

But Miyuki has already left, leaving Furuya to close his mouth and swallow the rest of the words. The pitcher grips the baseball he has in his hand tight, gaze to the floor as he moves sullenly to pick the rest of the balls scattered around the field. He’s the last one to leave the club room, dropping the keys off with the third-year manager who smiles at him kindly and waves him goodbye.

“Furuya-san.”

Furuya blinks when Suna approaches him with hands tucked into the pockets. His flatmate gives him a gentle smile. Furuya ducks his head in greeting.

“I was in the area,” Suna says, and they turn to walk together off the field.

Furuya nods again in acknowledgement. They spend the next minute walking in silence until Suna speaks.

“You would like to go get dinner?”

“…I’m not really hungry,” Furuya mumbles after a while, but at the same moment his stomach gives a loud growl.

Suna hides his smile. “Something light, then,” he says, and watches Furuya nod again hesitantly.

They end up in one of the canteens on campus. Furuya eats an oyakodon, finishing it way faster than Suna despite saying he’s not hungry. It’s rather cute, the way the pitcher gets so absorbed into eating that he doesn’t even glance up once. Suna watches him occasionally, wondering if he should bring up what he saw transpired earlier with Miyuki, but eventually doesn’t.

They return back to the apartment together and Haru looks at them curiously when they enter, with the swimmer at the low table eating his rice and mackerel dish. Furuya nods at Haru before disappearing into his room—when the door closes, Haru turns his attention to Suna with chopsticks half-way raised to his mouth.

“Do you want some mackerel?”

Suna comes to sit with him at the low table and shakes his head. “Thanks, but we just had dinner,” he declines gently.

Haru eats a mouthful of rice. “He seems depressed,” he states bluntly after swallowing.

“I passed by him at the field, he didn’t seem too good,” Suna agrees.

“Is it training?” the swimmer asks, and then a pause. “Or Miyuki-san?”

Suna blinks. “…Maybe both,” he says finally.

“Mm.”

* * *

Despite being _scouted_ for his pitching ability, Furuya is not allowed in the bull pen. He doesn’t understand why—yet another tradition maybe—but it’s frustrating because he wants to pitch instead of running laps around the field every day. Sure he understands the importance of running, he’s always been made to run plenty because of the lack of stamina back in Seido, but he’d thought at least a month in the first years would be allowed to _touch_ the ball at the very least. Instead, all of them are still dragging their tired bodies around the fence whilst their seniors bat and pitch in the field.

It’s increasingly infuriating whenever they pass by the bullpen and Furuya hears the sound of Miyuki’s voice light and amused with Narumiya Mei’s louder and more indignant one. Thing is, he does like Narumiya-senpai. Maybe a more accurate statement would be that he admires Narumiya’s _pitching_ , but he has no grudges about the pitcher himself either. Narumiya can pitch in a way that he can’t—that control and stamina, all the things Miyuki keeps nagging at him, so it’s no surprise that Narumiya is the ace and he isn’t.

But it’s not fair that he can’t even attempt to appeal to the coach about the speed in his fastballs, something he knows Narumiya can’t match—and it’s also not fair that the blond spends way more time with Miyuki than he does. Furuya gets that they’re flatmates, friends, maybe _best_ friends (though both of them would deny it to the deathbed) though there’s nothing more to it unlike his feelings for Miyuki, but it’s inevitable that bitterness surges whenever he sees Narumiya dragging Miyuki away from him, like this:

“ _Kazuya!”_ Mei shouts impatiently, fingers digging into the back of Miyuki’s collar with a scowl. “Dammit, you know you can’t stay to catch his pitch, why don’t you just do it on your dat—“

And Miyuki will always cut off any sentence that hints at their relationship before Mei yells it in front of the entire team.

“God, just wait for one _second_ , okay?!” Miyuki huffs, annoyed.

“I’m counting,” Mei declares, glaring back. “ _One_.”

“Miyuki-senpai—“

“I know, I know I said I would today but,” Miyuki sighs, scratching the back of his neck. “We still have kinks to sort out for the match this Saturday, the coach is kind of worried about our line up.”

“I’ll wait for you,” Furuya states without thinking, and Miyuki blinks in surprise.

“Furuya, just go home and rest, okay? I don’t even know when we’ll end,” the catcher says instead, turning to leave. “And you better eat dinner, or else I won’t catch your pitch.”

But Miyuki isn’t even catching it _now_ , is he, being busy in the first string while he’s still trudging through the fresher menu. Miyuki’s back is far away from him before he knows it, and he resigns himself with dragging the last of the bat baskets to the club room. He’s the last person left again, so he locks up the club room and drops the key off with the manager with a gloom in his shoulders.

When he exits the field, he sees the familiar gentle smiling face at him again, but this time his other flatmate is there too.

“Good evening,” Suna greets, and Furuya bows shortly in response. “Just done with training?”

“Yes.”

“Hungry?”

Furuya shakes his head and cautiously looks at Haru who had just been staring at him in silence.

“Satoru, let’s go swimming.”

* * *

Suna is sure there is closing hours to the pool. He’s also sure Haru had _just_ swam—the swimmer’s hair is damp and the other smells faintly of soap and chlorine, but they go in anyway. Neither Suna nor Furuya has been inside the indoor swimming complex, both of them slowly glancing about the facility until they notice Haru waiting for them at the edge of the pool.

“I can’t swim,” Furuya says suddenly, feet halfway stepping back, but Haru reaches for his arm and tugs him forward.

“You can start now.”

With no proper swimwear, Suna thinks, with an abrupt laugh curling inside his throat. “Maybe…not right now,” he says gently, looking between Furuya’s uncertain expression and Haru’s dead set eyes.

“The water will be good for him,” Haru insists.

Suna doesn’t want to argue with that—he kind of agrees, but most likely in a different line of thinking from Haru. They end up sitting with their legs in the water, a compromise that Haru was willing to give in, with Furuya in the middle. Suna stretches his toes in the cool water.

“You should tell Miyuki-san about what’s bothering you,” Haru says bluntly when they’ve lapsed into a minute of silence.

Suna would’ve gone with more tact, but it seems to work on Furuya—the pitcher pauses for a long moment before lowering his head and shaking it slowly in reply.

Haru ploughs on. “He won’t know until you say it.”

There seems to be a story behind those heavy words. Suna glances at the duo who are looking at each other with words unsaid; Haru is perhaps _too_ perceptive at times, speaking in sentences that should come with a lot more context.

“I don’t know what I want to say,” Furuya answers finally.

“What do you want to tell him?” Suna prompts.

It takes the pitcher another long while to reply. “…I don’t know.”

“It’s okay to say that too.”

Furuya considers that in silence. None of them have said very much, but somehow it feels like _enough_ —Furuya notices the hunger crawling up his stomach before releasing an embarrassing growl that echoes throughout the swimming pool area. Suna hides his amused chuckle. Haru prods at his shoulder.

“I’ll cook mackerel for you. Let’s go.”

As he follows his flatmates back to their apartment, Furuya chews on his bottom lip. It’s not loud, but it’s clear enough for the other two.

“Thank you.”

* * *

“Miyuki-senpai—“

“Not this week, Furuya, I told you. We have that match up coming, and I have morning practice tomorrow—“ Miyuki starts off exasperatedly, but he stops when he notices Furuya lowering his gaze to the ground quietly.

“Sorry,” he exhales heavily, speaking with a softer touch. “My head’s been hurting since first lecture and I need some painkillers. I just really want to get home and sleep.”

“Can—can I come with you?” Furuya blurts, instantly regretting it when he sees Miyuki’s expression harden in reflex before the catcher consciously soothes it down.

“Next time, okay?” Miyuki answers airily, but Miyuki has said the same thing whenever he asks to go over to Miyuki’s place.

He doesn’t get why Miyuki refuses to let him come, saying something about Narumiya Mei being _there_ and _in the way_ , and _it’s much better at your place, Toru_.

“Will you really—“

“Yes, I _will_ sleep,” Miyuki says quickly. “I promise.”

Furuya pauses. “Then, tomorrow’s practice…can I come?”

“Sorry, practise is only for the first string,” Miyuki looks tired that he has to repeat this often enough. “You’ll get there, Furuya.”

That’s another thing Furuya doesn’t understand; why does Miyuki always revert to his family name when they’re around other people? Miyuki doesn’t want to publicize their relationship, that’s fine, but everyone knows they were high school mates and a battery for two years, it’s not that unusual with Miyuki’s tendency to tease his juniors that he’d end up with a nickname. It’s just _weird_ , somehow, when Miyuki says his family name now, like it sounds _cold_ and he doesn’t like it.

“When?”

“When you’re chosen for first string,” Miyuki replies, obviously getting impatient with his questions.

_“Kazuya—! Are you coming or not?!”_

It’s completely out of the blue—Furuya doesn’t even realise what he says until Miyuki is staring back at him with his lips parted—but might be because he hears Narumiya Mei yelling for Miyuki’s attention, or that Miyuki turns to leave, or that he’s so frustrated that Miyuki keeps saying ‘later’ and the ‘later’ never comes. He’s not even approaching Miyuki to pitch anymore, he just wants to spend a few moments with Miyuki, _alone_. But the words tumble out of his mouth anyway.

“I love you, Miyuki-senpai.”

Furuya hates that it sounds like a plea.

It’s not loud, but it’s jarring enough for a couple of their teammates in the vicinity to stare at them, and of course Mei chokes so hard that the ace pitcher has to slap his own chest to breathe. Blank shock is clear on Miyuki’s face for a few seconds before it slips underneath a carefully constructed expression.

“I need to go,” Miyuki says finally, and disappears quickly out of the field.

Furuya bites his bottom lip and refuses to let his ears burn red when whispers arise around him.

* * *

“Furuya-san?”

Suna knocks gently on Furuya’s door whilst carrying a mug of warm milk, but receives no response. Haru watches from the low table, head resting on his palm. Neither of them are surprised—when Furuya dragged himself in in the evening, the pitcher barely paused to nod at them before closing himself into his room. It’s past nine and Furuya hasn’t exited at all to eat anything. Haru lets Suna knock a few more times before he stands up and nudges Suna out of the way.

“Satoru,” he calls before he turns the knob. “We’re coming in.”

Like the last time, Furuya is curled up on his bed, face buried into the polar bear soft toy. Haru steps in first, sitting down on the bed right beside the pitcher. He shakes Furuya by the shoulder.

“I know you’re not asleep.”

Furuya reluctantly turns his head, blinking blearily. “I’m not hungry.”

“I’m not asking you to eat.”

Furuya sits up slowly. Suna moves to sit on the other side of the bed, holding out the mug. The pitcher takes it, staring at it until Haru pushes him on the shoulder again, then he starts to drink it. The mug is empty within seconds.

“Do you want to talk?” Suna asks when he takes back the empty mug.

Furuya pulls his knees up, eyebrows furrowed like he’s thinking hard. “…Have…have you ever told someone you love them?”

His flatmates instantly freeze, but they’re quick to recover.

“My parents,” Haru says bluntly. “The water.”

When Suna feels two pairs on eyes on him, he answers. “My parents,” he says, but he’s not actually that sure—he probably did when he was young.

“Would you want to hear it?”

“I would be happy to hear it,” Suna says carefully, thinking about the past confessions he’s received.

Though he’s never reciprocated any, he still treasures the feelings given to him. Haru thinks about it before nodding in agreement.

“I…” Furuya starts hesitantly, looking at his toes. “I told Miyuki-senpai. But I don’t think he wanted to hear it.”

“…Maybe he needs some time,” Suna offers.

The thing is, Furuya _knows_ this, he knows Miyuki well enough that whenever things skirt the boundaries of topics like feelings it’s never been easy to get a straight answer. It doesn’t mean that he likes it. He places his chin glumly on his knee as Suna pats his back soothingly.

“You need a bath,” Haru says abruptly. “A hot one.”

Suna blinks for a couple of seconds before understanding why—other than Haru’s ‘water heals everything’ motto, Haru knows how to _care_ , in his own way. Furuya looks reluctant, but he lets the other drag him by the wrist out of the room and towards the bathroom.

Suna opts to stay behind.

* * *

“Okay, how about this?” Mei smirks as he raises his middle finger.

Miyuki groans. “Mei.”

Miyuki’s headache is starting to come back from Mei’s utter _nonsense_ —he barely slept that night after what Furuya had said to him in front of their entire team, and he has no idea what he should say in the evening when he sees Furuya. For now, he’s (trying to) eat lunch while Mei offers suggestions on their sign signals for the match; he’s failing miserably both.

“What,” Mei sniffs, jabbing his fork into a croquette on his plate. “You’re being really annoying right now, Kazuya.  You’re making the food taste bad.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

Mei chews on the croquette, eyeing his flatmate. He’s always thought Miyuki was dumb, but this is pushing it. He doesn’t really care about Miyuki’s “relationship issues” but Miyuki cooks terribly (i.e. not up to its usual standard) when the other is distracted and he can’t subject himself to that kind of food quality.

“I really don’t know why you’re freaking out. Though, I have to say he has _balls_ , and not the pitching kind,” he states bluntly, causing Miyuki to choke.

“Mei,” Miyuki repeats, irritated. “You’re _not_ helping.”

“Well, you aren’t helping yourself either.”

Miyuki grinds his teeth. “You know why I—…people are going to give shit to him for being with me, and—“

“Kazuya, _honestly_ ,” Mei sighs loudly. “Has anyone given you shit for sucking dick?”

Miyuki rolls his eyes at the dreadful attempt to sound insulting. “That’s because they don’t know that I’m—“

“You think the whole team _doesn’t know_? Are you for _real_?” Mei demands, exasperated. He’s not above palming his forehead for emphasis. “Oh please, the _whole world_ knew when Toru-chan kissed you at Koshien on _prime time live broadcast_. _Everyone_ was at Koshien; how the fuck do you think any of us were even _scouted_?”

Miyuki opens his mouth to retort, but Mei jabs his finger at him in challenge and Miyuki closes it.

“Besides, aren’t _you_ the one giving him shit right now?” Mei rolls his eyes. “Come on, Kazuya, it’s like what, two fucking years. He _loves_ you?” he scoffs, unimpressed. “So what? How’s that any different from his raging crush on you in Seido? I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that he hasn’t been with you all this while because he’s a damn masochist,” he mutters the next line under his breath. “I hope not. You’re not even worth it, god.”

Miyuki scowls, clearly hearing the last line. “I…I guess I don’t know what to say to him,” he admits finally, face going a tad pink. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t…—I just, it’s just—“

“Ew,” Mei begins with a disgusted wince. “I am not your therapist, Kazuya. Just stop.”

“…You _ass_.”

* * *

Habits are hard to break, but Miyuki clenches his fists and forces himself walk towards Furuya after practice—it’s obvious that everyone else has been waiting for his reaction to yesterday’s confession judging by the silence that falls on the team when he does. Furuya doesn’t make it easy for him either; the younger is dutifully picking the stray balls on the field, walking further and further away to the outfield.

Miyuki sighs and takes a deep breath. “Toru!” he calls loudly. “Satoru!”

He ignores how red his cheeks burn immediately—dammit, maybe this is why he’s never used Furuya’s first name anywhere out of private. Furuya actually drops the baseballs he’s collected in his arms at the sound of his name. Miyuki would laugh at the clumsy picture of Furuya’s wide eyes and panicked lunges after the balls rolling away, but he’s too nervous for it, especially when the entire team has eyes on his back.

Miyuki picks one that has rolled to his feet, and holds it out for Furuya who approaches him cautiously. He’s never—he’s never meant for Furuya to approach him _cautiously,_ ever; Furuya’s always been audacious about asking for what he wants—and not like this.

“Toru,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m coming over tonight.”

Furuya blinks in surprise. “What about…the meeting with the coach?”

“I’m. I’m asking you to wait for me,” Miyuki clarifies with an exhaled breath. “Is that okay?”

Another ball drops from Furuya’s arms, but the pitcher is too stunned to react. He nods—probably, he can’t really remember, but he does remember Miyuki quirking a smile at him and turning away to trot after the coach. In the distance, Mei smacks Miyuki’s back while grinning smugly, Miyuki yelps, offended.

Furuya waits at the dugout, toeing the cracks on the cement floor. It’s past an hour and a half when Miyuki finally comes up to him, slightly out of breath.

“Sorry—“ Miyuki sighs, falling into the seat next to him. “Mei wouldn’t stop _talking_ and it was _dragging_ and the rest of the team won’t shut up about you and—“

“Miyuki-senpai,” Furuya interrupts, sliding his fingers into Miyuki’s hand.

Miyuki falls silent immediately as Furuya grips his hand.

“Miyuki-senpai,” Furuya starts again, but this time Miyuki cuts in.

“Let me speak first,” the catcher says quietly. “…I’m sorry. I. Sorry,” he mumbles after pause. “About yesterday. I wasn’t—I…” he takes a deep breath, “I didn’t mean to brush you off like that, I just—…no one has said that to me in a long time,” he admits, words starting to bleed into a babble. “I wasn’t prepared. It’s not like I don’t…I mean, it’s not like I’ve been with you just because you said you liked me, on _my_ side, I—“

He’s sweaty and gross but Furuya completely ignores that and hugs him close.

“I love you,” Furuya’s voice is breathy against his ear, causing his heart to jump to his mouth. “And I know.”

The sun has already set by this time, leaving them both in dimness. Miyuki cups Furuya’s jaw and kisses him on the mouth once; Furuya blinks open his eyes and the shimmer in the blue hue tells Miyuki everything.

“Miyuki-senpai…”

“Hmm?”

“…Can you catch my pitch now?”

Miyuki stares for a moment before he laughs, he laughs so hard that his stomach starts to ache.

“I’ll catch your pitch for the whole day on Sunday,” Miyuki promises, ruffling the other’s hair messily. He grabs Furuya’s hand and drags the pitcher off the bench with a grin. “But tonight, I have _something else_ in mind.”

* * *

“Kazuya, are you fucking serious,” Mei grumbles, blowing at his fingertips.

Sundays are for him to _sleep_ , not play chaperone to Miyuki’s lame date. Honestly he deserved his day off, considering that they won yesterday’s match because of _his_ relentless perfect pitching—okay, maybe there were screw ups and easy balls that they missed but what matter is that they _won_ , and they’ll keep winning as long as _he’_ s on the mound. But back to the matter at hand; he doesn’t understand why he’s standing on the field with Miyuki and his boyfriend and being told to give the said boyfriend pointers in pitching.

“You don’t have plans,” Miyuki counters.

“How would you know?”

“Oh please, I would know because you won’t be able to shut up about it,” Miyuki answers easily. “Besides, I thought you’d _love_ to impart your all-knowing skills to Toru.”

Mei glances at the first year who stares at them—or him—from the side-lines with such intensity that he can feel the heat.  “This is more like being a third wheel on your gross date.”

“Miyuki-senpai, you said I could pitch,” Furuya mutters. “I don’t want to watch Narumiya-senpai pitch.”

“What was that?” Mei turns his eyes to the younger, chin raised in defiance. “You think you have nothing to learn from me, the greatest pitcher in Japan? Huh? Is that it? There’s a reason why _I’m_ the ace and you’re—“

“We get it,” Miyuki says loudly, clapping his hands. “Toru, you want to pitch right? The only way you can do that is if you make first string. So watch his slider.”

Furuya keeps silent, but the burning aura doesn’t subside.

“Mei,” Miyuki calls, bending down with his mitt ready. “ _Mei_ ,” he repeats when Mei just stands there with a sulk. “I already said I will bake you that cheesecake, dammit.”

Mei grumbles something inaudible under his breath, but the ace pitcher swings his arm back and throws the ball.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t going to write this plot point then I realised I already wrote 2k words of it last year and so…….apparently I had to write 3k more?? Welp this is about as angsty as it gets, get ready for plotless fluff and internal screaming here on out whoo


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sat on this chapter for a very long while because I wanted to add another segment to this, but it turns out that after many months I still haven't figured a way to write more. So. I'll just leave what I have here...

Contrary to what dumb Miyuki Kazuya believes, Mei has a life.

He has an actual _life_ and actual _friends_ and it’s just a _coincidence_ that he decides to check out their university’s indoor pool during the weekend when Miyuki’s boyfriend is supposed to have swimming lessons or something. It’s not like he wants to be the third wheel on their gross date—who would, anyway, but Miyuki keeps giving him suspicious glances like he’s purposely tagging along to get in the way and complaining about how it’s _all_ his fault that they’re late; suck it Kazuya, _he’s_ not the one being late since he’s going to the pool for _himself_.

“And you said I’m the slow one,” he mutters when they’re in the men’s toilets after changing into swim wear, where Miyuki is at the sink trying to stick his contacts on. “Couldn’t you have done this at home? I don’t get why you’d want to wear your contacts in such an unhygienic—“

“I’m done, sheesh,” Miyuki sighs, looking up at the ceiling and blinking a few times to let his contacts settle.

“Took you long enough,” Mei grumbles throwing Miyuki’s googles at the other as they exit the toilets. “Why don’t you get Lasik or something?”

“Some people aren’t rolling in cash like you are—“

“It’s not _that_ expensive—“

“—besides, I like wearing my glasses,” Miyuki shrugs. “It’s part of my…aesthetic.”

Mei scoffs. “What, your loser nerd aesthetic?”

“It’s better than the yankee look you’ve been trying to go for,” Miyuki retorts easily, giving Mei’s hair a pointed look.

“Fuck you Kazuya, you know my hair is a hundred percent natural— _OI_!“

Miyuki completely ignores him with a grin as they enter the pool area. The Olympic sized heated pool is sure a luxury in the university, but it’s probably a necessity for the competitive swimmers in their school. It’s a little crowded since it’s a weekend and all students have access, but Miyuki spots the familiar faces he knows at the last two lanes of the pool with one other sitting at the edge. When he gets closer, he flops down beside Suna who’s sitting at the edge with the other’s feet in the water, apparently watching someone in the water.

“Hey, Sunakawa.”

“Good morning, Miyuki-san,” Suna greets, features curved into a gentle smile. “Furuya-san is with Tachibana-san over there.”

Towards the further end of the pool, Miyuki can only see Makoto standing and walking slowly backwards, with the other’s hands stretched out in front under the water. A body is being pulled gently along in front of Makoto; that’s Furuya, who is being held by the hands to move forward.

Holding hands, huh.

“Thanks, I’ll see how he’s doing,” Miyuki mutters absentmindedly before slipping himself into the water and making way towards the duo.

Suna watches this silently, until someone sighs loudly from behind him before flopping down in the space Miyuki had occupied earlier. It takes a couple of seconds before the recognition hits; It’s the blond pitcher he’s seen in the bullpen with Miyuki before.

“He’s so obvious,” Mei says, rolling his eyes before he pauses. “You know what I’m talking about right?”

Suna pauses before nodding.

“Right? I told him everyone knows but nooo—” Mei continues, crossing his arms. “Kazuya thinks he’s being discreet, but he wouldn’t know what that meant even if it bit him in the ass.” Mei must’ve caught the rising eyebrows on Suna, because he stops and looks curiously at the younger. “Who are you, actually? How do you know Kazuya?”

“Sunakawa Makoto,” Suna says. “I’m Furuya-san’s flatmate. Miyuki-san has been over to our flat a few times.”

“Oh, you’re not the doppelganger,” Mei concludes. “I’m _Narumiya Mei_ ,” he grins, jabbing his thumb to his chest. “Ace pitcher of Todai.”

“I’ve seen you in the bullpen with Miyuki-san,” Suna adds to the conversation, but he doesn’t expect the blond to suddenly lean forward in bright interest.

“You have?! So what do you think?” Mei presses excitedly. “Am I not the _best_ that you’ve seen?”

Suna rubs his neck hesitantly before answering carefully. “I don’t watch a lot of baseball so…”

Mei pouts, crossing his arms. “Huh. You should, then. Watch me, that is. We have a match next month or something.”

“Okay.”

It takes a second before Mei blinks. “…Really? You’ll come just to watch _me_?”

Suna smiles slightly, shrugging. “It might be fun to watch a game live.”

“Huh,” Mei eyes the other critically. “You’re…a nice guy.”

Mei would say more—because it’s so rare that he actually meets someone who doesn’t purposely try to rile him up every single minute of the day (read: Kazuya), or gives him higher blood pressure (read: Katsuyuki, Carlos), but a figure moves towards them in the water, hand raised up in a half wave as he moves closer to them at the edge.

“Hey,” the person nods, smiling so bright that Mei has to inwardly shield his eyes for a second.

It’s the same person who was with Furuya at the other side of the pool previously; Mei glances over just for a second to see Miyuki speaking to Furuya who has surfaced, chuckling and holding Furuya’s hands between his palms—ugh, disgusting.

“Thank you for pissing Kazuya off; that was A plus,” Mei smirks widely.

“Um, I—…Miyuki-san is angry?” Makoto panics, eyes wide, suddenly turning around to look towards Miyuki.

“Jealous,” Mei clarifies, looking way too happy about it. “He said,” and Mei doesn’t even bother with a proper imitation of his flatmate’s voice. “’ _I can handle this_.’ to you, right, and then he evicted you away from Toru-chan. Ugh, he’s so _obvious,_ how the fuck did he ever think—“

“Oh, I didn’t realise, I should apologise, I—“

“WAIT—wait, wait!” Mei frowns, incredulous, and Makoto pauses before he actually takes a step to go over. “…Are you for real? Oh my god.”

“Um—“

“Who are you anyway?” Mei squints. “Toru-chan’s swimming instructor?”

Makoto laughs nervously. “Well, something like that. I’m Tachibana Makoto,” he says. “I’m not a student here actually, I’m with Haru.”

“…Who is ‘Haru’?”

“Me.”

Mei nearly startles off the edge and into the pool when the low voice speaks up from his peripheral vision. At first he thinks it’s Furuya—black hair, blue eyes, then he realises that whoever it is _isn’t_ Furuya; he’s seen the younger pitcher on the mound enough to know.

“Holy shit, I thought Kazuya was fucking with me,” Mei mutters under his breath. “Fuck, this is so _weird_ —“

“Um, if you don’t mind me asking, who are you?” Makoto asks.

“Narumiya Mei, ace pitcher of Todai,” Mei replies proudly before grumbling in reluctance. “…Kazuya’s flatmate.”

“Unfortunately,” an annoying, familiar, voice cuts in.

Miyuki has apparently waded back to them with Furuya in tow.

“I’m the unfortunate one,” Mei scoffs.

“Right,” Miyuki ignores him, turning to Makoto. “So, apparently you’ve already taught Fu—Toru to swim in the one hour I was late.”

Makoto chuckles, embarrassed.

“Well, just the basics of floating and kicking, Furuya-kun is a really fast learner—“ the aura around Furuya brightens tangibly until Miyuki elbows the younger, “—…and it depends on what style you’d like to learn first, Furuya-kun.”

Eyes naturally look towards Furuya who stares back blankly.

“Hm, I only swim free—“ Miyuki begins, “…style, so…why are you looking at me like that, Tachibana?”

Makoto automatically glances at Haru who scowls slightly, and Makoto lets out a short burst of laughter. “I’m sorry, it’s just, it’s just something Haru says a lot.”

Haru doesn’t add to that, instead, he makes his way towards Furuya and reaches out to touch the pitcher on the bare shoulders, making the other turn around for some kind of visual inspection.

“You should learn butterfly,” Haru says after a while, nodding decisively.

“Haru,” Makoto starts with a sigh, “You should let him choose.“

“But he will be good at butterfly.”

“But isn’t breast stroke the easiest to learn?” Miyuki puts in.

“You say that and _you_ can’t swim breast stroke,” Mei snorts.

Miyuki shrugs. “You can’t either.”

“You’re missing my whole point, dumbass—“

“If you’ve got nothing helpful to say, Mei, you should just—“

“Furuya-san,” Suna quips up between the bickering that was about to escalate. “Maybe it’s better if we show you the different kinds of swimming styles?”

Furuya considers this and nods in full agreement.

It turns out that only Makoto knows (or is willing) to swim all four different styles, so the other ends up as the demonstrator. It’s impressive—even Mei will admit this, how Makoto’s lithe form glides smoothly under water and cuts down the length of the pool with great speed.

“—and the last one is freestyle,” Makoto says when he comes back from swimming a lap backstroke. “Haru, I think you should show Furuya-kun this one.”

Haru blinks. “Why.”

“Why not?” Makoto smiles back.

Haru squints a bit but all Makoto does is to keep the smile—he sighs, flipping his goggles on. He doesn’t say anything as he simply sets off; swimming is swimming, there’s nothing better than it, with the water rushing past his ears. Back at the edge of the pool the rest of them watch a professional swimmer to be touch the other end, flip and propel himself forward; Haru’s form makes it look so easy and _beautiful_.

When Haru returns, he blinks at silent stare Furuya gives him.

“So, which one do you like, Furuya-kun?” Makoto asks.

“…I want to swim free.”

* * *

“Filthy _KAZUYA_!”

Miyuki grins whilst giving his flatmate a jaunty wave, unconcerned about how Mei close to spitting fire. “I said that _we_ ,” he points to Furuya, “are going out to eat. It’s not my fault that you assume everything includes you.”

“What am _I_ supposed to eat for lunch then?” Mei huffs, crossing his arms.

“I dunno,” Miyukis shrugs,  “Go get some takeaway or something. It’s not my problem to feed you.”

“It kind of _is_ , you ungrateful prick. Fuck you.”

“I’m out of your league.”

Mei splutters, caught between wanting to explain how _wrong_ and _laughable_ that retort was and kicking the stupid smirk off Miyuki’s face. Before he can unleash his words, a gentle hand lands itself on his shoulder and he glances back to see Makoto smiling kindly at him.

“Narumiya-san, would you like to join us for lunch? We’re going to a café nearby.”

Mei sucks in a short breath. Truthfully he’s not keen eating with people he doesn’t really know, that’s why he’s annoyed Miyuki would just ditch him for a gross date—but Miyuki’s already leading Furuya away with a backward wave, leaving him alone with Furuya’s flatmates and the smiling guy. He could just get some takeaway or order a pizza, but now that he’s yelled about how he’s going to be eating alone, it seems more pathetic to refuse company now.

“Yeah,” he mutters finally. “Why not.”

He follows after his juniors with his hands tucked in his pocket, turning over what he knows about the remaining trio after the swim session in the morning. Makoto seems to be nice, as well as Suna, though the latter is quieter. Haru is the one Mei can’t really wrap his head around; other than the uncanny resemblance to Furuya, it’s also pretty hard to get a read on the other for some reason.

As luck would have it, he ends up sitting next to Haru when they’re in the café. Fuck, it’s just so _weird_ —Mei eyes the black hair, fair skin and blue eyes; come on, blue eyes too?—until he gets interrupted.

“Narumiya-san,” Makoto coughs, drawing his attention. “Would you like to order?”

“Oh,” Mei blinks, glancing disinterestedly to the first option on the menu for just a second. “Just give me your best dish.”

“Uh…okay,” the waiter replies when Mei says nothing more and bows shortly. “I’ll be back when the food is ready.”

Several word of thanks echo and their table settles into a silence, two pairs of eyes on one side of the table drawn to the blond amongst them who’s gone back to giving Haru the suspicious side eye.

“By the way,” Mei suddenly says, looking back at them. “It’s _Mei_.”

“W-well,” Makoto starts, unsure, “We can’t possibly…”

“So you’d rather call me something that I don’t want?” Mei raises his eyebrows.

“No! I just, I—…”

“Makoto, he’s joking,” Haru says.

“How do you know?”

Haru shrugs, and turns to Mei. “Are you?”

Mei squints for a bit before shrugging. “It’s just Mei, _okay_?”

He must’ve said it a little more forcefully than usual, because the other three nod simultaneously—or maybe his juniors are just pushovers.

“So,” he coughs, eager to change the subject before any of them can ask _why_ , “Makoto.”

“Hm?”

Mei blinks at the swimmer who tilts his head. “Oh right, you’re Makoto too. I meant him,” he clarifies, point at Suna. “You’re not a swimmer, right? So what do you do?”

“I read.”

When nothing more comes, Mei pauses. “Uh, that’s it? That’s—” _boring_ , he nearly says, but he doesn’t want to be mean to the people who have been so much nicer to him than stupid Miyuki Kazuya. “…—different,” he settles on. “What do you read?”

Suna shrugs. “Everything.”

Mei snorts. “Even shoujo manga?”

“Mostly everything,” Suna amends. “I haven’t read a lot of shoujo manga. Have you, Mei-san?”

“I—“ he begins, but his eyebrows furrow at the polite suffix. It’s better than his surname, so he’ll take what he can get. “Nah, but I know Kazuya keeps some under his bed, like _that’s_ his porn stash. He’s super lame.”

“Nagisa says they’re good reference for kissing and sex,” Haru puts in.

“ _What_?” Makoto exclaims, the same time Mei says, “Who’s that?”

“A friend,” Haru explains, but its’ obviously mostly for Makoto’s benefit. “He showed me some.”

“ _What_ , _w-when_?!” Makoto splutters, hand pressed against his forehead. “Haru, I’m pretty sure whatever it was, it wasn’t shoujo manga. Why were you two even looking at that?!”

Haru shrugs, and Mei grins. “What did you learn?”

“Mei-san—“ Makoto tries to stop them, but it’s futile.

“You must stretch your partner before putting it in,” Haru says bluntly after thinking for a bit. “Don’t force it when it hurts. Use lube—“

“Haru! We’re public!” Makoto hisses, face flushing red.

Mei laughs. “So, does he apply what he learnt?”

“What?”

“You know, in bed,” Mei raises his eyebrows at Makoto’s blink of confusion. “When you two are getting it on—sheesh, do I have to spell it out for you?” he rolls his eyes. “When you guys fuck, does he—“

“We’re not—“ Makoto interrupts abruptly, voice suddenly loud and high pitched. “…like that. We’re just, friends.”

Mei blinks, gaze flickering between Makoto and Haru, one who looks at him with thick embarrassment and the other, with mostly curiosity.

“Oh,” he says. “Oh. I thought you guys were together…” he trails off. “Are you sure you guys aren’t?”

“No,” Makoto replies, tone steadier this time. “Why did you think so?”

“I dunno, I just thought it was obvious,” Mei says. “But apparently not,” he adds in displeasure, like he’s affronted that he’s wrong. “I bet you thought so too, right, Makoto?”

Gazes flicker between Makoto and Suna before they realise Mei’s probably referring to Suna. Haru stares at Suna, who deliberates his answer long enough that he gets saved by their orders arriving.

The topic switches to something else—baseball, mostly, and Haru waits till Mei and Makoto are paying for their meals when he turns to Suna and asks, “Do you think Makoto and I are like Satoru and Miyuki-san?”

Suna smiles gently. “...Not the same,” he says. “But I know he means a lot to you too.”


End file.
